THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 1, 1996 TAG: 9609010074
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: 75 lines
Like bullies waiting in line to throw baseballs at a county fair dunking booth, Edouard and Fran and Gustav are churning in line up the Atlantic as this is being written.
And like a lot of you, I'm as nervous as Bill Clinton in a room full of Republicans.
Coming from the Deep South, I'm used to tornadoes. If hurricanes are like 15-foot putts, where you can at least estimate a break, tornadoes are like pinballs, bouncing randomly from place to place. Twisters come, do their damage and leave. Hurricanes are a kind of water torture: We wait and pray. And wait some more.
If we ever needed to be re-reminded of the frailty of life, hurricanes serve as a tough taskmaster.
To think that one week ago - though it seems longer - a lot of us were basking in the joy of a wonderful Babe Ruth World Series. Anyone who didn't get excited when Nashville's Jeff Parsons slammed a two-out, 3-2 pitch over the centerfield wall needs to see their physician immediately.
But a number of scenes from that week go beyond baseball, and say something about us as people.
First, thumb through the Babe Ruth program, if you have one. You'll see the faces of a number of folks who worked hard to make the tournament work. What you won't see are the countenances of hundreds of other people who worked throughout the week to make the tournament go smoothly. They parked cars, took tickets, kept scorebooks. You name it, they did it.
There was one guy that no one, save the working press, came to know. Bob Lanier worked as one of the paid employees for the series in one of the truly thankless jobs - night watchman at the park, keeping the press box and vendors' stands secure.
In the wee hours of each World Series morning, Bob and his trusty cocker spaniel Buster were on guard. Long after the last fan had filed from the bleachers, Bob was there, flashlight in hand, helping light the darkness for the workers in the press box, whose work started after the final out was made.
He also lifted weary spirits by offering a kind word, a smile and a chance to pat Buster's head. There's no better balm for keyboard-weary heads, hands and hearts.
The Rev. Martin Luther King talked once about taking joy in whatever you do. For example, if you sweep streets, do it with the passion of Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Bob Lanier and Buster do that for the business of being a night watchman.
Host families brought their own brand of joy to the series. Jay Burrus was part of the statistics crew for the tournament. He and his wife, Kathy, also hosted some of Nashville players. Statisticians often are a dispassionate lot, who view baseball with all the detachment of a department store mannequin.
But when Parsons lifted his series-winning blast, Burrus shot from his chair with a whoop.
``That's my boy,'' he said.
Burrus was not alone. Each night, the host parents cheered their hearts out for youngsters who had been strangers only days before. And as each team was eliminated, and packed its bags to go home, there were tears from those same families, the tears parents cry when they send their own kids off to college, or to basic training.
The political conventions may talk about family values. Host families lived them out every day.
And then, there is the picture of Jim ``Catfish'' Hunter, standing amidst a multitude of kids, signing baseballs, bats, programs, hats and tiny scraps of paper. Hertford's hero stood for hours, greeting each seeker with a smile and a thank you. No one was turned away.
In these days of ego-inflated big-money megastars, it was nice to see one sports legend who hasn't forgotten the elegance of cheerful giving.
All in all, it was a great week for goodness, a chance to see and touch what's best in us. We managed to catch something as elusive as a good curve, without the help of TV or movies or expensive gifts.
We snagged a week's worth of smiles.
Keep those grins handy, folks. With Edouard, Fran and Gustav still on the move, we need all the grins we can get. by CNB