#226: I'm Sorry and a Couple of Stories

Roses from Anne's Front Garden

#226: I’m Sorry and a Couple of Stories

I’m sorry (there I’ve said it three times already) for the very limited photos in this post. There are several reasons for the absence of photos and a couple of them are good reasons. First, I’m having terrible trouble with my new iMac accepting the old programs in my external photo hard drive. Apple no longer supports the iPhoto program I used for years and which worked well with my ten year old iMac. Now I get the program to load either 5% or 21% of my photo library stored on an external hard drive. I need 100% to load for it to be usable. That failed program contains all my stored photos. So, no old photos easily available. Which brings me to the second set of reasons lumped together.

Reason two: Parkinson’s Disease, my new life. Parkinson’s works against photography in several ways. One of my biggest symptoms is tremors, particularly on the right side. Controlled fairly well with medication most of the time, if I try taking pictures when my meds are wearing off or haven’t yet kicked in, shaking will blur many of the photos I’d take. Also it’s difficult to plan a photo excursion not knowing if it will be a “shaky” day or if my balance will be off. One of Parkinson’s non-motor symptoms, though, is my main reason for no new photos—apathy, the loss of motivation or initiative. One of the most debilitating of my Parkinson’s conditions is that I’ve lost the drive to do much. I used to go places just to take photos and now I can barely get myself to go out a get picture of Anne’s beautiful roses. I’m working on the problem though. Admitting that I’ve let the disease turn me into a couch potato that’s beginning to smell is a start. I’m also trying to come up with ideas for projects that require less energy than I used to have and still be worthy of the effort. Hopefully there will be some new photos for the next post. But for now, I’m sorry.     

Now a couple of new stories (from my early memories journal) about the old me.

Getting the Canby Speech Coach Job

Anne and I wanted to move out of Brookings on the southwest Oregon coast in 1984 and back to the Salem area. I started looking for a speech job since I’d done well at establishing a team at Brookings. I knew there was a job open in Canby—Wilma Hicks, the well respected longtime coach died early in the ’83-’84 school year of cancer. Jack Watson had taken over as coach and I wasn’t interested in being someone’s assistant coach. When at the National Speech Tournament (I had qualified a student, Steven Leek from Brookings) I talked to Jack and he said that he wasn’t staying at Canby—he was just filling in for the year. It was the Head Coach position that was open. 

From Nationals I called the principal at Canby, Bob Christiansen, and asked if the position was still open. He said it was just closing, but if I could meet him in Canby the Monday after Nationals he’d meet with me. I said I’d be there by 1:00.

Anne, Steve and I got back to Brookings on Sunday and after a few hours sleep I got up and drove the 5 hours to Canby on Monday. The principal and I had a good discussion and I knew I had interviewed well when he offered me the job on the spot. I had to check with Anne, and then I accepted the next day.  Later Bob told me that he had closed the job the week before, but for some reason he hadn’t sent the letter to the winning applicant. He said he felt there was some reason to wait. At another time he said hiring me was the best thing he ever did for the school. When at Canby I coached the team to Nationals 16 years in a row, had a student win first place at Nationals in a main event (a first for Oregon), and made speech class a graduation requirement.

As they say, the rest is history.  

On a personal note, I want to thank those who contributed to the 2024-25 Canby speech team when school funds were low. We helped coach Debbie Groff take five students to District and qualified all five to State.  Even though the school district has dropped funding for the future, there is still money enough in our donations to allow a volunteer coach to go to some competitions in 2025-26. Thank you Anne-Marie D., Sam D., Megan F., Rochelle F., Sarah K., Hannah L., Mary M., Laurel S., and Judy M., for joining Anne and I in providing opportunities for the Canby team for one or maybe more years.

Being Bullied

There were two instances that I remember when I was the victim of bullying by peers. The first was in upper elementary school grades. Leroy wasn’t big or tough, but he was rough from a broken or troubled family. He wouldn’t threaten me directly, but he implied if I didn’t share my lunch or my lunch money or do his homework for him that he wouldn’t be my friend any more—and he wouldn’t like that. The bullying lasted part of a school year. It ended when his family moved away. Before he moved away I did a few coping things like walked to school instead of taking the bus which he rode and staying to work late at school. At least once I got his homework done wrong. But then that meant I had to get it wrong too. I never told an adult about the bullying, but I don’t know what I’d have done if it lasted longer.

The second instance was when I was a freshman at Linfield College. I was assigned a room in the jock’s dorm, Memorial Hall, under the football stadium. The resident’s dorm monitor was football star lineman Fred who ended up a pro. Fred bullied everyone and controlled everything that went on in the dorm. My roommate, a sophomore named Loren, was labeled Number One and I was Number Two. We were supposed to call out our numbers when we were called. I would call out my number, “Two!” and hold up my fingers in a “V” sign with the back of my finger out—like a Victory sign. The jocks were so stupid none of them knew I was flipping them off in the British-way, “Two! F___ You!” I also started sleeping on a fraternity brother’s dorm room floor or on a couch in the Omega Delta Phi House (my fraternity). I moved into the fraternity house my second semester even though I had to petition the school to do it.

These are the only examples of being bullied that made any impression on me and I don’t think I was ever someone else’s example of a bully. 

NEXT: Hopefully something with good photos, old or new.

How I Feel at the End of the Day