Autograph City: Part 2

 I've written on here before about how I've had the luck of the Irish when it comes to autographed books.  For a reminder it's all here. 

That luck never ran out, and it gets weirder all the time.  

Bill "Spaceman" Lee is one of the true characters of baseball, and there are many.  He was the true provocateur of the game in the 70's, advocater of weed, and comic maelstrom all while managing to be a more than effective major league pitcher.  His book, The Wrong Stuff, is among baseball's more referenced and beloved tomes.  It's right up there with Ball Four, The Bronx Zoo, and Temporary Insanity. I got a copy of it online, and it physically feels like it's been in a lumber drying oven for a decade and I had to elicit the help of Frances to repair the cover from its cracked and lowly state.  

eBay.  Sometimes it's like rolling the dice. 

But I enjoyed the book so much I wanted to read the sequel, Have Glove, Will Travel, and ordered it off of eBay as well, as it's out of print.  I made the effort to really read the condition description this time and it appeared at my door almost brand new.  Inside, on the cover page is Bill's looping signature with the word "EARTH" written under it and the year 2005.  At the time, The Spaceman was letting the current book owner know where they were apparently., 

Mo Rocca

In the Glory days of The Daily Show, Jon Stewart's army of correspondents that helped him inject world events with snark and realistic opinion consisted of Stephen Colbert, Steve Carrell, John Oliver, Samantha Bee, and the often forgotten Mo Rocca.  Mo came off like a combination of John Stossel and Jesse Eisenberg.  He wrote a political humor piece called All the President's Pets that I picked up at a library book sale.  Getting home I found his signature inside dedicated to Michelle.  Unexpected indeed

Imagine if my name was Michelle.

Chester Marcol

Packer fans with any years behind them know who Chester Marcol is.  He was a kicker for the Green Bay Packers starting in 1972 and even won rookie of the year in an era when kicking accuracy wasn't what it is now.  In two of his first three seasons he led the league in attempted and made kicks.  He also missed 15 and 14 kicks in those seasons.  (He kicked for quite a few years beyond those 3 as well)  Those miss totals would not even get you on a roster today, as kicking has become such a refined and accurate art.

In the beginning of his final season in Green Bay, a season he wouldn't finish as personal demons caught up with him, he made this play that most long time Packer fans will either never forget or have been educated about:

Another eBay order, his autobiography known as Alive and Kicking, as Chester battled those demons I told you about and beat them, arrived on my doorstep, carrying (unbeknownst to me) an introduction from my all time football hero, Lynn Dickey. 

And inside, Chester's slick looking signature, silver pen on green.  Kinda cool. 

They held Payton to 65 yards.  That's a freakin' miracle!

Greg Kihn

 

 The Break-Up Song is not only a nostalgia machine, one that takes me back to a time in my life when my family and I were rebounding from tragedy, it's also one of my ten favorite rock songs of all time.  It was written and sang by Greg Kihn, whose self-titled band would go on to have a couple more hits and sell some records.  Greg was known for his sense of humor as he appears in the end of Weird Al Yankovic's parody of Greg's song "Our Love's in Jeopardy", "I Lost on Jeopardy".

Greg's a bit of a writer too.  Many years ago whilst wandering through a book store, I saw a copy of his new horror novel, "The Horror Show" and after reading all the plus reviews on it, damn near bought it. I have a decision making disorder in stores that exists to this day (Just ask Frances how powerful it is) and I ended up not buying it. 

Around Christmas time about two years before the pandemic, we were wandering around the Frisco Half Price Books and I came across Kihn's novel, only this time it was in hard cover.

And autographed.

But this time dedicated to two people.  Now I'm not saying I know these people, but I do know two people with these names, that hang around together a lot, and one of them has a unique name.  So odds are even it was to them, and it makes sense they would be dumb enough to part with it. 

The Art of Mentorship

My sister Linda began dating a guy named Don in the summer of 1977.  I was 6.  

Cue "Come Sail Away" by Styx.

I would need both hands to count the amount of times he's saved my life.  He would be part father, part brother, part best friend, and all mentor. 

There's a scene in one of the Rocky movies, where Pauly tells Rock that if he could be anyone on Earth, he would be him. 

I wrote that in one of Don's birthday cards. Except for, you know, I changed Pauly to me and Rocky to Don.  Otherwise it wouldn't have made any fucking sense.

You see, there was a time in my life where I had next to nowhere to go.  For weeks, Linda gave me as much area as she could in her one bedroom apartment. I know I was eating up room, taking time and space from someone who needed theirs.  Linda never complained.  

Don swooped in, gave me a bed and a room, storage space for what I had, a room for my kid so Aidan would have his own place to go when I had custody, and an indefinite soft landing as I tried to re-gear my broken machine and get it running again.  While there, he paid for me to fix my painfully broken dentistry in an emergency situation when my insurance would only cover half.  Once again, he saved my life.

Once again.  Linda was right there. Though they are no longer together, they communicate, and she told Don to make sure I was eating, that I was taking care of myself.

In 1989, when I was attending trade school, Don and Linda rented me their basement at an incredibly low rate.  When semester change came, and I couldn't swing my books, he skipped the rent.  This happened more than once.  He gave me rides to work and school when epilepsy took that ability away from me. 

In 1987, my parents wanted to jump from southern to central Wisconsin when I only had 7 weeks of school left. With all the changes that had taken place in the previous two years, I couldn't do it again.  Don and Linda let me stay with them until the school year ended, to dull the sharp edge of another major shift. 

In 1988, there was a time when life was pushing me to the edge of a jagged cliff.  Don and Linda took me into the woods for a week to get my head right.  The level in my head had its bubble returned to the middle after that trip. 

Don was there when I was 6.  I remember the first time I saw him.  He let me pretend to drive his car.  He dropped 10 years of age to entertain me frequently. When my Dad died, he did his best to partially fill an impossible void.  He taught me things about fixing cars that pretty much don't apply in today's age of ridiculous engineering, but it got me through a long time. He taught me to drive.  He taught me how to string and fire a bow.  He took me hunting and taught me how to do it.  He informed a large portion of my taste in music in my youth.  He and Linda took me to my first concert. 

He always answered the phone.  

He always listened. 

He was always there.  Even in situations where distance, and even time are a preventative, I know he's there.  When my kid wanted to visit me in Texas in 2012, it was Don who picked my kiddo up, Don who took Aidan to the airport, Don who made sure the first-time flyer got on the right plane.  Aidan is actually Don's Godchild and means the world to him. We had some fun together while I got life back in a flight pattern at Don's place.  We saw Blue Oyster Cult, multiple movies, celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together, and had more than a few hundred laughs as a trio. 

One time, during that period where I lived in his house, we were standing in his kitchen, and I began to cry because of all of the too-much-ness.   He gave me his usual grunt and "Aw, man there's no need for that shit" before wrapping his arm around the back of my head. 

"Why do you do this for me, why do you keep saving my life?" I asked. "I haven't done shit for you, man."

"That's not true.  You always make me laugh, Robby" he said, before dropping a handful of peanut M&Ms into my palm, and making me a Whiskey and Coke. 

Imperfect though they may be, there are still heroes.