Being at the Right Place at the Right Time
I got my first job at WFRX as an act of providence, and my opportunity to perform the play-by-play of Benton sports was also by chance. Danny Rodden was the station’s announcer for the Benton games and died suddenly of a heart attack just a few hours before a live football broadcast. WFRX station manager, Art Smith, was shocked and saddened by Rodden's death, but he had another problem. He began a frantic search for Rodden’s replacement. He telephoned local colleges, other radio stations and every former play-by-play announcer he knew. His plea for help went unheeded.
As the minutes ticked off, Smith became more anxious. The Benton Rangers were hosting the Mt Vernon Rams at Tabor Field in Benton, and the game’s sponsors were expecting a lively broadcast. Everything had been readied for Benton’s game. He had everything except a sports announcer to call the game. Station engineer, Ken Kennedy asked Smith if he should leave the station to set-up the broadcast equipment at the stadium. He also had a package of advertisements that he would be reading at the game. He was a good engineer and a delightful color commentator, but he considered himself ill-equipped to call the play-by-play of a ball game. I continued with my afternoon record show watching chaos develop in front of me. Smith kept calling, trying to find a replacement.
What happened next is a total mystery to me. I have often wondered what possessed me to take the leap that I took that Friday afternoon. I knew nothing about sports and had seen one-half of one football game. But, I asked Smith, “How much does it pay?” He said, “Hu?” “How much does the play-by-play job pay?” I asked.
The reason I wonder about my unexpected action is because I was a sports ignoramus. I was reared on a farm and had seen only a small portion of one high school homecoming football game. My farm chores kept me busy from 5:00 a.m. until well after dark; chores that included the twice daily milking of two cows. A farm boy, in my part of the country, does not participate in after-school activities. There was another factor at play. My family was not interested in sports. Our daily conversation revolved around politics and family issues. We had lively discussions, but I never remember a mention of a team, a player or even a sports event.
Smith finally mumbled, “fifteen dollars.” I immediately told him I would do it. He looked at me with a condescending, almost disgusting frown and went right back to the telephone. Ninety minutes before kick-off, he brought me the microphone with a shallow bit of encouragement. He knew I was an upstart radio announcer that had never broadcast a sports event. But, he had run out of options. Smith was a popular radio man and an experienced play-by-play announcer. He was the renowned Voice of the West Frankfort Redbirds and had to report to the West Frankfort gym for the night’s Redbird game.
Things began moving at lightning speed. As soon as I got the nod from Smith, I sprang into action. I called the librarian at the Benton Public Library and asked Mrs. McClendon to jot down as many football terms as possible. I told her to go to the glossary in the back of sports books and get me a list of terms and their meaning. I told her I would be there in fifteen minutes. It was a time before copy machines, so she had to write everything in longhand. I grabbed my microphone and headed toward the library.
I remember walking into the broadcast booth at Tabor Field and everyone looking surprised. Elmer Jenkins, the stadium’s public address announcer, wanted to know what I was doing in the broadcast booth. I did not answer him when I settled on my broadcast stool. I left it up to Kennedy to tell the group what had happened.
When I comforted myself on the broadcast stool, an unusual relaxation overtook me. It felt as if I were where I was supposed to be. The next few hours were dream-like. It was like everything was moving in slow motion. I had listened to the professional announcer, Jerry Gross and his broadcasts of the St Louis Hawks basketball team on KMOX Radio in St Louis, and I noticed a certain cadence to his presentation. It was sort of like singing the words without the music. I copied his style and never missed a beat.
With Mrs. McClendon’s list and Art Smith’s tepid confidence, I broadcast my first game. When I wrapped up the night, Ken Kennedy looked at me and said, “All is well that ends…….”
Joe R. Browning spent 16 years as the Voice of the Benton Rangers and was eventually inducted into the Illinois High School Coaches Hall of Fame. He currently lives in Mesa, Arizona with his wife, Evelyn.
As the minutes ticked off, Smith became more anxious. The Benton Rangers were hosting the Mt Vernon Rams at Tabor Field in Benton, and the game’s sponsors were expecting a lively broadcast. Everything had been readied for Benton’s game. He had everything except a sports announcer to call the game. Station engineer, Ken Kennedy asked Smith if he should leave the station to set-up the broadcast equipment at the stadium. He also had a package of advertisements that he would be reading at the game. He was a good engineer and a delightful color commentator, but he considered himself ill-equipped to call the play-by-play of a ball game. I continued with my afternoon record show watching chaos develop in front of me. Smith kept calling, trying to find a replacement.
What happened next is a total mystery to me. I have often wondered what possessed me to take the leap that I took that Friday afternoon. I knew nothing about sports and had seen one-half of one football game. But, I asked Smith, “How much does it pay?” He said, “Hu?” “How much does the play-by-play job pay?” I asked.
The reason I wonder about my unexpected action is because I was a sports ignoramus. I was reared on a farm and had seen only a small portion of one high school homecoming football game. My farm chores kept me busy from 5:00 a.m. until well after dark; chores that included the twice daily milking of two cows. A farm boy, in my part of the country, does not participate in after-school activities. There was another factor at play. My family was not interested in sports. Our daily conversation revolved around politics and family issues. We had lively discussions, but I never remember a mention of a team, a player or even a sports event.
Smith finally mumbled, “fifteen dollars.” I immediately told him I would do it. He looked at me with a condescending, almost disgusting frown and went right back to the telephone. Ninety minutes before kick-off, he brought me the microphone with a shallow bit of encouragement. He knew I was an upstart radio announcer that had never broadcast a sports event. But, he had run out of options. Smith was a popular radio man and an experienced play-by-play announcer. He was the renowned Voice of the West Frankfort Redbirds and had to report to the West Frankfort gym for the night’s Redbird game.
Things began moving at lightning speed. As soon as I got the nod from Smith, I sprang into action. I called the librarian at the Benton Public Library and asked Mrs. McClendon to jot down as many football terms as possible. I told her to go to the glossary in the back of sports books and get me a list of terms and their meaning. I told her I would be there in fifteen minutes. It was a time before copy machines, so she had to write everything in longhand. I grabbed my microphone and headed toward the library.
I remember walking into the broadcast booth at Tabor Field and everyone looking surprised. Elmer Jenkins, the stadium’s public address announcer, wanted to know what I was doing in the broadcast booth. I did not answer him when I settled on my broadcast stool. I left it up to Kennedy to tell the group what had happened.
When I comforted myself on the broadcast stool, an unusual relaxation overtook me. It felt as if I were where I was supposed to be. The next few hours were dream-like. It was like everything was moving in slow motion. I had listened to the professional announcer, Jerry Gross and his broadcasts of the St Louis Hawks basketball team on KMOX Radio in St Louis, and I noticed a certain cadence to his presentation. It was sort of like singing the words without the music. I copied his style and never missed a beat.
With Mrs. McClendon’s list and Art Smith’s tepid confidence, I broadcast my first game. When I wrapped up the night, Ken Kennedy looked at me and said, “All is well that ends…….”
Joe R. Browning spent 16 years as the Voice of the Benton Rangers and was eventually inducted into the Illinois High School Coaches Hall of Fame. He currently lives in Mesa, Arizona with his wife, Evelyn.
Are Chores Really Supposed To Be Easy?
I am the fourth son and fifth child of Barney and Maude Browning. I have three younger sisters in our family of 10. I was born on a 57 ½ acre farm three miles south of Benton, Ill. My parents made life on the farm meaningful and fun. They orchestrated an air of cooperation that resulted in a highly functioning small-farm operation. We were so many in numbers that if zip codes were in use, we would have had our own. There are communities in America that have fewer residents than my parents had kids. One day, my mother took us to the grocery store and asked us to keep ahold of a rope. A lady came to her and asked, “Are all these your kids or is this a school picnic?” My mother replied, “These are my children and it ain’t no picnic.”
The most influential and important person in my life was my mother. My life has always been idyllic, maybe because she refused to tolerate laziness, bickering and sub-par work. She showed an unconditional love for her children and required that same love between them. She taught us how to perform tasks on the farm and expected them to be completed efficiently and effectively. She knew the importance of successful farming because the quality and quantity of our food, clothing and shelter depended on group productivity. We worked together, played together, and ate together and loved life together. Our parents were the linchpin that we hooked our hopes, desires, fears and aspirations. Simply stated, they were our founding strength and we, the kids, were their support system.
Never let me insinuate that it was always honey cake and pie growing up. Chores that are relatively easy today were a lot harder then. Early in my life, we did not have electricity, running water or an indoor bathroom. Wash day required a team effort. My mother used a washboard before the Rural Electrification Act brought “power” to the farm. Later, the electric washing machine was almost as ineffective as the washboard, but it did get the overalls and other items wet. My mother operated an old wringer washing machine with two No. 3 wash tubs filled with rinse water. Since we obtained our water from a well or cistern, it had to be drawn and hand carried to the tubs. Don was generally the water boy on wash day. Getting clean clothes for 10 people was a weekly challenge for my mother.
Mom was the first in the family to arise generally around five a.m. She would come to my room, wake me so that I could milk our two cows. They had to be milked at 5:00 a.m. and again at 5:00 p.m. seven days a week. In the warm months, I wore a pair of overalls and no shirt. In the winter months, I grabbed almost every stitch of clothing I could find to ward off the harsh temperatures of southern Illinois. As I headed out the door, Mom would fire up the old cook stove with corn cobs and kindling. She began the preparation of breakfast for 10 while I milked our two cows. When I returned to the house, she took the milk and converted it into gravy. I would go back out into the cold and feed several dozen chickens. It was the hens of the flock that provided the dozens of eggs needed for the family’s meals. We had Rhode Island White chickens, a breed that originated in the United States. They are a dual-purpose fowl suitable for both meat and egg production. They have a single variety, with pure white plumage, red wattles and earlobes, and a medium size rose comb. Nothing could beat the dumplings made from an old Rhode Island hen.
My father was an amateur psychologist, at least he was effective at using psychology on me. I was becoming bored with my daily chores because the repetition of farm work was getting to me. My father had a choice. He could force me to perform my chores, or he could do what he did to make my chicken feeding chore more attractive. He brought home from the coal mines a little bucket. He had taken it from the trash heap, painted it bright blue and straightened the handle. He did not hand it to me but chose to conduct a family ceremony. When he presented it to me, he announced to everyone that it was, “Joe’s special chicken-feeding bucket.” I swallowed his hype hook-line-and sinker and hurried out of bed every day to feed the chickens.
That bucket was just another utensil that helped feed our large and growing family. Almost everything we consumed had to be raised, harvested or killed on the farm. We had a limited amount of beef and veal, but chickens were fried and eaten on a regular basis. Every Saturday evening, my mother killed, cleaned and cut-up four fryers for our Sunday dinner. She would fry the chickens on Saturday night so that they would be ready for Sunday dinner. The family attended Sunday school and church at the First Christian Church, and upon arrival home, sat down at the dinner table. Mom and her daughters would place a large pan of the warmed over chicken on the table along with vegetables, mashed potatoes and cornbread. We had plenty of fresh milk to drink, and home canned jelly for the biscuits. For some reason, she seldom baked a cake, but was a genius with her homemade pies made from scratch. We usually had apple, cherry or peach pies. Every so often, Mom and the girls would serve my all-time favorite, banana or coconut cream pies. Mom prepared one pie for Don, and two pies for the rest of the family. Don was a hearty eater.
We, as a family worked six days a week. On Saturday evening, Mom would position the No. 3 wash tub in the front room near the Warm Morning heating stove. It was bath time. Mary Lou was the first to bathe followed by Carolyn, Sue and Becky. Then Ken, Don, Kirby and finally me. I was a teenager before I found out bath water was not grey and slick.
Following our baths, our folks loaded us in the old Ford car and took us to the ice cream shop next to the Woodway Food Store at the corner of East Main and North McLeansboro Streets. We had a nickel each to purchase our treat. I always bought a large ice cream soda. It was the highlight of my week.
Joe R. Browning is a 84-year old Benton native now living in Mesa, Ariz. He is the Historic Editor of YOURFRANKLINCOUNTY. He may be reached at [email protected].
The most influential and important person in my life was my mother. My life has always been idyllic, maybe because she refused to tolerate laziness, bickering and sub-par work. She showed an unconditional love for her children and required that same love between them. She taught us how to perform tasks on the farm and expected them to be completed efficiently and effectively. She knew the importance of successful farming because the quality and quantity of our food, clothing and shelter depended on group productivity. We worked together, played together, and ate together and loved life together. Our parents were the linchpin that we hooked our hopes, desires, fears and aspirations. Simply stated, they were our founding strength and we, the kids, were their support system.
Never let me insinuate that it was always honey cake and pie growing up. Chores that are relatively easy today were a lot harder then. Early in my life, we did not have electricity, running water or an indoor bathroom. Wash day required a team effort. My mother used a washboard before the Rural Electrification Act brought “power” to the farm. Later, the electric washing machine was almost as ineffective as the washboard, but it did get the overalls and other items wet. My mother operated an old wringer washing machine with two No. 3 wash tubs filled with rinse water. Since we obtained our water from a well or cistern, it had to be drawn and hand carried to the tubs. Don was generally the water boy on wash day. Getting clean clothes for 10 people was a weekly challenge for my mother.
Mom was the first in the family to arise generally around five a.m. She would come to my room, wake me so that I could milk our two cows. They had to be milked at 5:00 a.m. and again at 5:00 p.m. seven days a week. In the warm months, I wore a pair of overalls and no shirt. In the winter months, I grabbed almost every stitch of clothing I could find to ward off the harsh temperatures of southern Illinois. As I headed out the door, Mom would fire up the old cook stove with corn cobs and kindling. She began the preparation of breakfast for 10 while I milked our two cows. When I returned to the house, she took the milk and converted it into gravy. I would go back out into the cold and feed several dozen chickens. It was the hens of the flock that provided the dozens of eggs needed for the family’s meals. We had Rhode Island White chickens, a breed that originated in the United States. They are a dual-purpose fowl suitable for both meat and egg production. They have a single variety, with pure white plumage, red wattles and earlobes, and a medium size rose comb. Nothing could beat the dumplings made from an old Rhode Island hen.
My father was an amateur psychologist, at least he was effective at using psychology on me. I was becoming bored with my daily chores because the repetition of farm work was getting to me. My father had a choice. He could force me to perform my chores, or he could do what he did to make my chicken feeding chore more attractive. He brought home from the coal mines a little bucket. He had taken it from the trash heap, painted it bright blue and straightened the handle. He did not hand it to me but chose to conduct a family ceremony. When he presented it to me, he announced to everyone that it was, “Joe’s special chicken-feeding bucket.” I swallowed his hype hook-line-and sinker and hurried out of bed every day to feed the chickens.
That bucket was just another utensil that helped feed our large and growing family. Almost everything we consumed had to be raised, harvested or killed on the farm. We had a limited amount of beef and veal, but chickens were fried and eaten on a regular basis. Every Saturday evening, my mother killed, cleaned and cut-up four fryers for our Sunday dinner. She would fry the chickens on Saturday night so that they would be ready for Sunday dinner. The family attended Sunday school and church at the First Christian Church, and upon arrival home, sat down at the dinner table. Mom and her daughters would place a large pan of the warmed over chicken on the table along with vegetables, mashed potatoes and cornbread. We had plenty of fresh milk to drink, and home canned jelly for the biscuits. For some reason, she seldom baked a cake, but was a genius with her homemade pies made from scratch. We usually had apple, cherry or peach pies. Every so often, Mom and the girls would serve my all-time favorite, banana or coconut cream pies. Mom prepared one pie for Don, and two pies for the rest of the family. Don was a hearty eater.
We, as a family worked six days a week. On Saturday evening, Mom would position the No. 3 wash tub in the front room near the Warm Morning heating stove. It was bath time. Mary Lou was the first to bathe followed by Carolyn, Sue and Becky. Then Ken, Don, Kirby and finally me. I was a teenager before I found out bath water was not grey and slick.
Following our baths, our folks loaded us in the old Ford car and took us to the ice cream shop next to the Woodway Food Store at the corner of East Main and North McLeansboro Streets. We had a nickel each to purchase our treat. I always bought a large ice cream soda. It was the highlight of my week.
Joe R. Browning is a 84-year old Benton native now living in Mesa, Ariz. He is the Historic Editor of YOURFRANKLINCOUNTY. He may be reached at [email protected].
DOUG COLLINS
By Joe R. Browning
As the Voice of the Benton Rangers, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to call the play-by-play of every one of his high school games. I also traveled to Louisville, KY to describe one of his 1972 Olympic practice games. I became an early believer in his ability and his personage. He could have been anything he wanted to be, but he chose basketball and he was one of our nations finest.
Paul Douglas Collins is a national treasure. From his early days, Doug brought fame and glory to Benton and the surrounding area. His basketball accomplishments are well known, his exemplary personal life is enviable and his national broadcasts are exceptional. He is the total premium package.
Born in the Miner’s Hospital in Christopher, Doug grew up in Benton with his parents, Paul and Gerry Collins, brother, Jeff and sister, Linda. The family spent a few years living in the Franklin County Jail apartment when Paul Collins was Sheriff of the county. Doug told me that the basketball was his childhood’s best friend.
Doug’s high school basketball career is legionary and earned him the attention of Illinois State University and Will Robinson, the first black head coach in NCAA Division 1 basketball. The Hall of Fame coach told me years later that his success was due, in large part, to the Benton, Ill. graduate. Robinson and Collins are displayed together on a statue on the campus at Illinois State University.
Doug was chosen to represent his country in the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, West Germany. Two events are burned in the minds of viewers from those games. Terrorist attacked the barracks and killed 11 Israeli athletes. The moments seemed like hours as the terrorists played-out their killing spree. There was also the controversial gold medal basketball game featuring Doug’s game-winning free throws in the final seconds. But, officials added three seconds to the clock allowing Russia to take home the gold. The U.S. players refused the second place medals leaving them in the Olympic safe.
In 1973, I was a Benton announcer working at a West Frankfort (WFRX) radio station and my colleagues were stunned when Doug was the first overall pick of the NBA draft. Their doubts were soon dispelled when Doug won, not one, but three NBA All-Star honors with the Philadelphia 76ers. He returned as their coach and was the NBA Coach of the Year in 1997. He was inducted in the College Basketball Hall of Fame in 2016.
Recent television viewers are accustom to watching Doug as a color analysis on TNT and other national networks. Several teams have considered Doug for another coaching stent, but on September 19, 2017, the Chicago Bulls announced that he has joined their team as senior advisor of basketball operations.
While Doug has an exemplary professional dossier, his personal life is even more admirable. I do not know Doug to be a “Bible-thumper,” but I have been in his presence when he witnessed to younger athletes. He was a frequent guest in Benton Coach Rich Herrin’s locker room, there to share his faith with fellow athletes. His involvement with John Malkovich with the recent construction of the Events Center is further evidence of his compassion for others. Doug Collins is living a powerful sermon.
My five-year-old daughter, Kimberly was Doug and Kathy’s flower girl in their wedding ceremony in Genesco, Ill., Kathy’s hometown. After the beautiful ceremony, the couple followed Doug’s professional road-map and during the long and exciting trip, had two children. Chris is a former Duke University basketball player and is head basketball coach at Northwestern University. Daughter, Kelly played basketball for Lehigh University and is a school teacher in Pennsylvania. Knowing Doug as I do, he would much prefer I list their sports and personal accomplishments instead of his.
On a personal note, I remember conversations I have had with Doug. All are memorable, but my most prophetic was during the post-season tournament his senior year in high school. I told him, “You will undoubtedly do great things with a basketball but, you will “break-the-bank” sitting with a microphone in front of a TV camera.” I have great joy when I turn on my TV and see him describing the game he loves. He has had a good run, but I suspect the best of Doug Collins is yet to come.
Paul Douglas Collins is a national treasure. From his early days, Doug brought fame and glory to Benton and the surrounding area. His basketball accomplishments are well known, his exemplary personal life is enviable and his national broadcasts are exceptional. He is the total premium package.
Born in the Miner’s Hospital in Christopher, Doug grew up in Benton with his parents, Paul and Gerry Collins, brother, Jeff and sister, Linda. The family spent a few years living in the Franklin County Jail apartment when Paul Collins was Sheriff of the county. Doug told me that the basketball was his childhood’s best friend.
Doug’s high school basketball career is legionary and earned him the attention of Illinois State University and Will Robinson, the first black head coach in NCAA Division 1 basketball. The Hall of Fame coach told me years later that his success was due, in large part, to the Benton, Ill. graduate. Robinson and Collins are displayed together on a statue on the campus at Illinois State University.
Doug was chosen to represent his country in the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, West Germany. Two events are burned in the minds of viewers from those games. Terrorist attacked the barracks and killed 11 Israeli athletes. The moments seemed like hours as the terrorists played-out their killing spree. There was also the controversial gold medal basketball game featuring Doug’s game-winning free throws in the final seconds. But, officials added three seconds to the clock allowing Russia to take home the gold. The U.S. players refused the second place medals leaving them in the Olympic safe.
In 1973, I was a Benton announcer working at a West Frankfort (WFRX) radio station and my colleagues were stunned when Doug was the first overall pick of the NBA draft. Their doubts were soon dispelled when Doug won, not one, but three NBA All-Star honors with the Philadelphia 76ers. He returned as their coach and was the NBA Coach of the Year in 1997. He was inducted in the College Basketball Hall of Fame in 2016.
Recent television viewers are accustom to watching Doug as a color analysis on TNT and other national networks. Several teams have considered Doug for another coaching stent, but on September 19, 2017, the Chicago Bulls announced that he has joined their team as senior advisor of basketball operations.
While Doug has an exemplary professional dossier, his personal life is even more admirable. I do not know Doug to be a “Bible-thumper,” but I have been in his presence when he witnessed to younger athletes. He was a frequent guest in Benton Coach Rich Herrin’s locker room, there to share his faith with fellow athletes. His involvement with John Malkovich with the recent construction of the Events Center is further evidence of his compassion for others. Doug Collins is living a powerful sermon.
My five-year-old daughter, Kimberly was Doug and Kathy’s flower girl in their wedding ceremony in Genesco, Ill., Kathy’s hometown. After the beautiful ceremony, the couple followed Doug’s professional road-map and during the long and exciting trip, had two children. Chris is a former Duke University basketball player and is head basketball coach at Northwestern University. Daughter, Kelly played basketball for Lehigh University and is a school teacher in Pennsylvania. Knowing Doug as I do, he would much prefer I list their sports and personal accomplishments instead of his.
On a personal note, I remember conversations I have had with Doug. All are memorable, but my most prophetic was during the post-season tournament his senior year in high school. I told him, “You will undoubtedly do great things with a basketball but, you will “break-the-bank” sitting with a microphone in front of a TV camera.” I have great joy when I turn on my TV and see him describing the game he loves. He has had a good run, but I suspect the best of Doug Collins is yet to come.
Here Rests in Honored Glory an American Soldier known but to God.”
-Inscription on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier-
Twenty, twenty-three marks the 70th anniversary of the Korean War Armistice, a war
that saw 130,000 Americans killed or wounded. It was a cold and bloody conflict that was fought by several of my friends and family members. From the war’s dead, one soldier, representing all who died there, lies in our nation’s capital. I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to honor him and other fallen heroes. This was my day at Arlington.
It was a hot day in 1985 when Evelyn and I settled into the farthest back seat in the Nation’s Capital Tour Bus. We were in Washington D.C. attending the Towns and Township’s Annual Conference and a tour of the Arlington National Cemetery was on the agenda.
Eleven years earlier, I had been elected supervisor of Benton Township and the annual gathering in Washington afforded local government officials the opportunity to meet, network and seek money-saving ideas that could benefit Benton Township. I shared details of our 13 people-serving initiatives I had established in Benton, including the free firewood, free appliances and free food distribution programs. Our efforts also included the infamous cheese giveaway program which became hilariously popular. Upstate supervisors were interested in the details of many of our programs, especially the distribution of the cheese.
I had been asked to speak and detail many of our programs and their results. The conference met every morning, and the afternoons were spent touring Washington. My bride and I chose to tour the Arlington National Cemetery.
We learned that Arlington National Cemetery performs 27 to 30 funeral services each day. The 624 acres is an impressive landscape that serves as a tribute to the service and sacrifice of every individual laid to rest within the hallowed grounds of this national treasure.
There are fourteen categories for those interned at the cemetery. They include Casualties of War and Honorary War Veterans, Exploration and Space, Medicine, Military, Minorities and U.S. Presidents and their families. Other categories include Science & Engineering, Sports, U.S. Supreme Court, Politics, Women, Other Prominent and Historical Figures.
I was especially interested in visiting the grave of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. I had met Kennedy at the Marion, Il airport during one of his political rallies. My father, then Franklin County Sheriff Barney Browning and I were allowed to stand on the speaker’s platform during the future president’s speech at the Williamson County Airport in Marion. Before he spoke, I shook his hand and I remember him saying, “Look at that sea of people. Isn’t this a beautiful night?” Most of all, I remember Kennedy’s deep blue eyes that seemed to radiate under the airport runway lights. There were thousands of supporters pushing against the airport retaining fence struggling to get a better view. But, this is a story for another time.
Anyway, the president never specified where he wanted to be buried, but most of his family and friends assumed he would have chosen a plot in his home state of Massachusetts. Because he was a former president and a WW II veteran, he qualified for a plot at Arlington.
The spring before he was assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald, Kennedy made an unscheduled visit to Arlington National Cemetery and had remarked to a friend that the view of the Potomac River from the Curtis-Lee Mansion was so peaceful, “I could stay here forever.” After the President’s death, the contents of the conversation reached Jacqueline Kennedy, who then toured the site and agreed that her husband’s remains, “Belonged to the people.” Jackie Kennedy died in her Manhattan, N. Y. home and was interned beside him in Arlington National Cemetery. Two of the couple’s unborn children are also buried at the site. An eternal flame was erected and marks the site. It was a moving moment when Evelyn and I viewed the graves.
The cap-stone of the cemetery is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The grave holds the unidentifiable remains of service people from all of our wars. The Tomb itself is 9’ by 13’ and stands 6’ tall. It weighs almost 80-tons, counting the sub-base.
I learned later that my participation in a ceremony at the Tomb was coordinated with George Wilson, Executive Director of Townships of Illinois. He said nothing to me; he just made sure Evelyn and I were on the tour bus to the cemetery.
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier contains the remains of a dead soldier or service people from other branches who are unidentified and known, “But to God.” The anonymity of the entombed service people is important to the symbolism of the monument since his or her identity could theoretically be the tomb of anyone and everyone who fell in the service of this nation. It serves as a monument to all for their sacrifices.
Several times a year, presidents and leaders from around the world are invited to participate in the official ceremonies of the Laying of the Wreath. Henry Charles Albert David, formally styled Prince Henry of Wales laid the Wreath in May 2013, and President Barrack Obama participated in the ceremony the same month. The official ceremony is usually conducted by Heads of State and other dignitaries.
As we approached Arlington, I heard the driver’s voice on the intercom say, “Will Sergeant Joe R. Browning come to the front of the bus.” The driver, still herding the bus toward the cemetery began reading from the Tomb’s Itinerary of Events. “You are Sergeant E-5 Browning, Joe Richard, BR 166 788 80, U.S. Army, 1961-1966? “Yes I am,” I replied. The driver continued, “The guard captain will lead you to the Tomb’s offices for your instructions.”
Once there, I was met by a guide from the U.S. Army’s 3rd Infantry Regiment, the Sentinel for the Tomb. It is considered one of the highest honors to serve as a Sentinel at the Tomb. Fewer than 20 percent of all Army volunteers are accepted for training and of those, only two percent pass the grade to become full-fledged Tomb Guards. The attrition rate and the difficult qualification process have made The-Tomb-of-the-Unknown-Soldier-Guard-Identification-Badge the second least-awarded decoration of the U.S. military. First, is the Astronaut Badge. The duties of the sentinels are not only ceremonial, but they will confront people who cross the barriers at the tomb or who are disrespectful or loud. And, their weapons are fully loaded, and they do have fixed bayonets.
The guide asked me to follow him deep into the interior of the Tomb’s Amphitheatre, to a M/Sgt Anderson, who was sitting behind a large mahogany desk. Standing at parade-rest in front of his desk were two highly decorated veterans, both in battledress. One, representing WW II and the other acknowledging the Korea Conflict. They had a flower-garden-of-ribbons on their chests … medals hanging from their upper torso. They looked every bit like heroes but that day they were told that they were my backups.
True to the Army’s protocol, I was not notified of the ceremony. They had coordinated my participation with George Wilson, the Executive director of the township state organization. All he had to do was make sure I was there.
I was there but totally underdressed. I was wearing a golf shirt and summer slacks … complete with tennis shoes. I had dressed in touring attire. I never felt more self-conscious about my relaxed wardrobe. There must be something I could do.
M/sgt Anderson informed me that we would begin the procession to the tomb in five minutes. The itinerary called for me to march with the Guardsman and the two servicemen to the tomb. Once there, I was to step out front; cup my hands as if I were holding the Wreath; follow the Guardsman and the Wreath to its resting place; use both hands to touch the Wreath; stand at attention and render a military hand salute during the playing of the taps. At the conclusion of the playing of the taps I was to return to the line-up; then follow the Guardsman back to the Tomb’s interior.
I asked M/sgt Anderson if he knew why I had been chosen for the ceremony and he growled, “It says here you have a dual role, representing the military because of your exemplary service record and representing local government officials, due to your governmental accomplishments.” I thought, O.K.
I had satisfied my six-year military obligation during peace time and there was nothing during those years that would approach exemplary. I was an Army reservist or what is commonly called a weekend warrior. I never left the states; I saw no combat and was on active duty six months out of my six years obligation. The nearest I came to combat was in a brawl in the Army barracks at Fort Dix, N.J. when members of two New York gangs collided.
I did receive a couple of peace-time awards during my tour when I was the recipient of the Lt-Gen William Kelley Harrison, Jr. Exemplary Soldier’s Award. Two years later I was named the Chicago Tribune’s Outstanding Illinois Soldier-of-the-Year.
At the Tomb that day, I was more concerned about my casual dress and realized that I had to do something about it. I learned later that the Tomb authorities had a dress code for visitors so you can imagine what they expected from the participants involved in the ceremony. Men are to wear collared shirts, dress trousers with a belt and appropriate shoes. A blazer or business jacket and tie are expected. My dress was far too casual for the ceremony about to unfold.
Before the ceremony, I got a good look at the Wreath. The gift of flowers, at a memorial site is a ritual that occurs around the world and is understood in every culture. The floral tributes at funerals bespeak both the beauty and the brevity of life and evoke memories of other days. These types of memorials are made each day at Arlington National Cemetery, at the 30 funerals occurring with solemn reverence for departed loved one.
While waiting downstairs for the ceremonies to begin, I noticed an exit sign next to the restroom door. I told the M/sgt in charge that I needed to go to the latrine and, when he wasn’t watching, I slipped out into the huge crowd. I located Evelyn and gave her a brief update as to what was happening.
I knew the Washington, DC heat would eliminate the possibility of a member of the audience wearing a jacket. About the time I had concluded there was no help from the crowd, a rather large man strolled over to where Evelyn was standing. I hustled through the sweltering heat and introduced myself and quickly explained the situation. He told me I was lucky because he was an undertaker from Philadelphia. “I will place the jacket on you, and I will also tie the tie.” I was damn happy to have this mortician help me in my moment of need. Once on, everything fit perfectly except the sleeves of his jacket were a bit too short for my long arms and the tie looked a little funny on a golf shirt but, I did appear a lot more respectable.
The ceremony was impressive, but it was over quickly. In a wink-of-an-eye I was back downstairs for a debriefing. Evelyn was with the undertaker and his wife when I came out of the Tomb offices. He was the first to ask why I had been given the honor of laying the Wreath and I quipped, “Because I was the best dressed man in Washington.” He got a kick out of that comment.
After it was all over, I realized that we had left our camera in the hotel room, and we had zero photos of the event. Some weeks later, the Tomb staff sent me a framed photo montage of the ceremony that day along with the American Flag that had flown over the Tomb the day of the ceremony. The flags instructions read that it was to be predominately displayed during my final services.
It was a near perfect day and a great experience. The only thing I would have changed would have been my attire. Outside of that, the photo montage framed with the inscription describing the event, was a good and lasting memory. It is one of my prized possessions.
-Joe R. Browning is the former publisher of the Benton Evening News, Benton Township Supervisor, and United States Army Veteran. He lives in Mes, AZ. with his wife, Evelyn. (We just call him Grandpa and Dad, but that doesn't make him any less a hero in our eyes)-
that saw 130,000 Americans killed or wounded. It was a cold and bloody conflict that was fought by several of my friends and family members. From the war’s dead, one soldier, representing all who died there, lies in our nation’s capital. I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to honor him and other fallen heroes. This was my day at Arlington.
It was a hot day in 1985 when Evelyn and I settled into the farthest back seat in the Nation’s Capital Tour Bus. We were in Washington D.C. attending the Towns and Township’s Annual Conference and a tour of the Arlington National Cemetery was on the agenda.
Eleven years earlier, I had been elected supervisor of Benton Township and the annual gathering in Washington afforded local government officials the opportunity to meet, network and seek money-saving ideas that could benefit Benton Township. I shared details of our 13 people-serving initiatives I had established in Benton, including the free firewood, free appliances and free food distribution programs. Our efforts also included the infamous cheese giveaway program which became hilariously popular. Upstate supervisors were interested in the details of many of our programs, especially the distribution of the cheese.
I had been asked to speak and detail many of our programs and their results. The conference met every morning, and the afternoons were spent touring Washington. My bride and I chose to tour the Arlington National Cemetery.
We learned that Arlington National Cemetery performs 27 to 30 funeral services each day. The 624 acres is an impressive landscape that serves as a tribute to the service and sacrifice of every individual laid to rest within the hallowed grounds of this national treasure.
There are fourteen categories for those interned at the cemetery. They include Casualties of War and Honorary War Veterans, Exploration and Space, Medicine, Military, Minorities and U.S. Presidents and their families. Other categories include Science & Engineering, Sports, U.S. Supreme Court, Politics, Women, Other Prominent and Historical Figures.
I was especially interested in visiting the grave of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. I had met Kennedy at the Marion, Il airport during one of his political rallies. My father, then Franklin County Sheriff Barney Browning and I were allowed to stand on the speaker’s platform during the future president’s speech at the Williamson County Airport in Marion. Before he spoke, I shook his hand and I remember him saying, “Look at that sea of people. Isn’t this a beautiful night?” Most of all, I remember Kennedy’s deep blue eyes that seemed to radiate under the airport runway lights. There were thousands of supporters pushing against the airport retaining fence struggling to get a better view. But, this is a story for another time.
Anyway, the president never specified where he wanted to be buried, but most of his family and friends assumed he would have chosen a plot in his home state of Massachusetts. Because he was a former president and a WW II veteran, he qualified for a plot at Arlington.
The spring before he was assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald, Kennedy made an unscheduled visit to Arlington National Cemetery and had remarked to a friend that the view of the Potomac River from the Curtis-Lee Mansion was so peaceful, “I could stay here forever.” After the President’s death, the contents of the conversation reached Jacqueline Kennedy, who then toured the site and agreed that her husband’s remains, “Belonged to the people.” Jackie Kennedy died in her Manhattan, N. Y. home and was interned beside him in Arlington National Cemetery. Two of the couple’s unborn children are also buried at the site. An eternal flame was erected and marks the site. It was a moving moment when Evelyn and I viewed the graves.
The cap-stone of the cemetery is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The grave holds the unidentifiable remains of service people from all of our wars. The Tomb itself is 9’ by 13’ and stands 6’ tall. It weighs almost 80-tons, counting the sub-base.
I learned later that my participation in a ceremony at the Tomb was coordinated with George Wilson, Executive Director of Townships of Illinois. He said nothing to me; he just made sure Evelyn and I were on the tour bus to the cemetery.
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier contains the remains of a dead soldier or service people from other branches who are unidentified and known, “But to God.” The anonymity of the entombed service people is important to the symbolism of the monument since his or her identity could theoretically be the tomb of anyone and everyone who fell in the service of this nation. It serves as a monument to all for their sacrifices.
Several times a year, presidents and leaders from around the world are invited to participate in the official ceremonies of the Laying of the Wreath. Henry Charles Albert David, formally styled Prince Henry of Wales laid the Wreath in May 2013, and President Barrack Obama participated in the ceremony the same month. The official ceremony is usually conducted by Heads of State and other dignitaries.
As we approached Arlington, I heard the driver’s voice on the intercom say, “Will Sergeant Joe R. Browning come to the front of the bus.” The driver, still herding the bus toward the cemetery began reading from the Tomb’s Itinerary of Events. “You are Sergeant E-5 Browning, Joe Richard, BR 166 788 80, U.S. Army, 1961-1966? “Yes I am,” I replied. The driver continued, “The guard captain will lead you to the Tomb’s offices for your instructions.”
Once there, I was met by a guide from the U.S. Army’s 3rd Infantry Regiment, the Sentinel for the Tomb. It is considered one of the highest honors to serve as a Sentinel at the Tomb. Fewer than 20 percent of all Army volunteers are accepted for training and of those, only two percent pass the grade to become full-fledged Tomb Guards. The attrition rate and the difficult qualification process have made The-Tomb-of-the-Unknown-Soldier-Guard-Identification-Badge the second least-awarded decoration of the U.S. military. First, is the Astronaut Badge. The duties of the sentinels are not only ceremonial, but they will confront people who cross the barriers at the tomb or who are disrespectful or loud. And, their weapons are fully loaded, and they do have fixed bayonets.
The guide asked me to follow him deep into the interior of the Tomb’s Amphitheatre, to a M/Sgt Anderson, who was sitting behind a large mahogany desk. Standing at parade-rest in front of his desk were two highly decorated veterans, both in battledress. One, representing WW II and the other acknowledging the Korea Conflict. They had a flower-garden-of-ribbons on their chests … medals hanging from their upper torso. They looked every bit like heroes but that day they were told that they were my backups.
True to the Army’s protocol, I was not notified of the ceremony. They had coordinated my participation with George Wilson, the Executive director of the township state organization. All he had to do was make sure I was there.
I was there but totally underdressed. I was wearing a golf shirt and summer slacks … complete with tennis shoes. I had dressed in touring attire. I never felt more self-conscious about my relaxed wardrobe. There must be something I could do.
M/sgt Anderson informed me that we would begin the procession to the tomb in five minutes. The itinerary called for me to march with the Guardsman and the two servicemen to the tomb. Once there, I was to step out front; cup my hands as if I were holding the Wreath; follow the Guardsman and the Wreath to its resting place; use both hands to touch the Wreath; stand at attention and render a military hand salute during the playing of the taps. At the conclusion of the playing of the taps I was to return to the line-up; then follow the Guardsman back to the Tomb’s interior.
I asked M/sgt Anderson if he knew why I had been chosen for the ceremony and he growled, “It says here you have a dual role, representing the military because of your exemplary service record and representing local government officials, due to your governmental accomplishments.” I thought, O.K.
I had satisfied my six-year military obligation during peace time and there was nothing during those years that would approach exemplary. I was an Army reservist or what is commonly called a weekend warrior. I never left the states; I saw no combat and was on active duty six months out of my six years obligation. The nearest I came to combat was in a brawl in the Army barracks at Fort Dix, N.J. when members of two New York gangs collided.
I did receive a couple of peace-time awards during my tour when I was the recipient of the Lt-Gen William Kelley Harrison, Jr. Exemplary Soldier’s Award. Two years later I was named the Chicago Tribune’s Outstanding Illinois Soldier-of-the-Year.
At the Tomb that day, I was more concerned about my casual dress and realized that I had to do something about it. I learned later that the Tomb authorities had a dress code for visitors so you can imagine what they expected from the participants involved in the ceremony. Men are to wear collared shirts, dress trousers with a belt and appropriate shoes. A blazer or business jacket and tie are expected. My dress was far too casual for the ceremony about to unfold.
Before the ceremony, I got a good look at the Wreath. The gift of flowers, at a memorial site is a ritual that occurs around the world and is understood in every culture. The floral tributes at funerals bespeak both the beauty and the brevity of life and evoke memories of other days. These types of memorials are made each day at Arlington National Cemetery, at the 30 funerals occurring with solemn reverence for departed loved one.
While waiting downstairs for the ceremonies to begin, I noticed an exit sign next to the restroom door. I told the M/sgt in charge that I needed to go to the latrine and, when he wasn’t watching, I slipped out into the huge crowd. I located Evelyn and gave her a brief update as to what was happening.
I knew the Washington, DC heat would eliminate the possibility of a member of the audience wearing a jacket. About the time I had concluded there was no help from the crowd, a rather large man strolled over to where Evelyn was standing. I hustled through the sweltering heat and introduced myself and quickly explained the situation. He told me I was lucky because he was an undertaker from Philadelphia. “I will place the jacket on you, and I will also tie the tie.” I was damn happy to have this mortician help me in my moment of need. Once on, everything fit perfectly except the sleeves of his jacket were a bit too short for my long arms and the tie looked a little funny on a golf shirt but, I did appear a lot more respectable.
The ceremony was impressive, but it was over quickly. In a wink-of-an-eye I was back downstairs for a debriefing. Evelyn was with the undertaker and his wife when I came out of the Tomb offices. He was the first to ask why I had been given the honor of laying the Wreath and I quipped, “Because I was the best dressed man in Washington.” He got a kick out of that comment.
After it was all over, I realized that we had left our camera in the hotel room, and we had zero photos of the event. Some weeks later, the Tomb staff sent me a framed photo montage of the ceremony that day along with the American Flag that had flown over the Tomb the day of the ceremony. The flags instructions read that it was to be predominately displayed during my final services.
It was a near perfect day and a great experience. The only thing I would have changed would have been my attire. Outside of that, the photo montage framed with the inscription describing the event, was a good and lasting memory. It is one of my prized possessions.
-Joe R. Browning is the former publisher of the Benton Evening News, Benton Township Supervisor, and United States Army Veteran. He lives in Mes, AZ. with his wife, Evelyn. (We just call him Grandpa and Dad, but that doesn't make him any less a hero in our eyes)-
BILLY SMITH WAS MY SON'S IDOL
It is said that the only certainties in life are death and taxes, but I believe there is one more. In every boy’s life there is an idol; a person that commands attention, a person that becomes a role model. This is my story about my idol, a real nice guy who was also a high school basketball star.
Billy Smith was the key to the unbelievable successes of his basketball team all four years he attended Benton Consolidated High School. He became a freshman about the time I became an avid Benton Ranger fan. When Smith pulled on his number 22 jersey, he became larger than life. For me, Smith was Clark Kent in a phone booth slipping on his Superman shirt. The things he did on the playing floor were indescribable, but his life off the floor was even more impressive. As a young kid I watched him carry himself on the playing floor with a natural skill. He conducted himself in the real world with the maturity of a person much older than his age. I admired his playing talent and his lifestyle. He was someone I wanted to emulate.
Game day around our house was like a national holiday. The school day seemed to drag as I anticipated the final bell in the last class. What I longed for was the moment the family loaded into out station wagon and headed to the small BCHS gymnasium. Upon arrival we found long lines of fans snaking round the building. The big battle in Benton was getting a seat in the small gymnasium.
I would find my seat and wait for the chills to run down my spine when the public address system blasted out "Sweet Georgia Brown,” a rendition that introduced me to another world. For 32 minutes, nothing really mattered. It was Billy Smith against the world and I was there as his witness. There were other players who ran onto the floor, but it is the picture of Billy Smith in my mind’s eye that resonates most with me. He wasn't the biggest; the strongest; the most muscular, but he didn’t have to be. He had developed his natural abilities into a remarkable skill set that was awe inspiring. It was instinctive and you knew that when he had the ball in his hands great things were bound to happen.
Smith would probably say that it was his teammates that made him look good. That a natural statement for a humble man. His team’s roster did bear the names of some outstanding high school stars like Steve McCommons, Paul Dinkins, Robert Fort, Scott Hall, Rob Dunbar, Rob Hammond, Keith Tabor, Bucky Durham and others. All great players in their own right, but it is Smith and the things he did that stand-out most in my mind. His game and his life have been the perfect expression of unselfishness.
I telephone Smith and learned that he and his wife, Cathy were rearing their family and going about living life. When I told him I was going to write about a young kid’s idolization of a sports star, I’m sure the names of Kobe, Pujols and Roethlisberger popped into his mind, but when I told him the kid was me and the star was him the conversation took on a whole new meaning. Smith said he did not realize back then how deep the influence of the Running Rangers had penetrated his community. “I did appreciate the opportunity to be a member of the Running Rangers and I did realize how special it was to be a part of all of that. As a kid myself, I used to admire BCHS players and hoped, someday to play in that high school gym. To become one of those players is almost unbelievable. I would not change that for anything.”
Peggy Fleming, Olympic Gold Medalist noted “the first thing is to love your sport. Never do it to please someone else. It has to be yours!” Billy Smith made basketball his sport; he loved it; he nurtured it; and he excelled in it. In every game he played he moved the sport to a little higher level. In every game I saw him play I felt my admiration for him grow.
The Ranger tradition is like a never-ending story for our community. The long lines are gone, the ticket sales are nominal and Sweet Georgia Brown is just a memory. The memories live on. Out there are little boys and girls that are preparing and honing their skills so that, someday they may become a Billy Smith and when that happens, someone will write a tribute about him. That's what makes our community unique…the Running Ranger tradition never dies.
Thank you, Billy Smith for being yourself and for making game day the best day of the week for a young, admiring kid. You made the 1972-1975 years memorable. I will continue to pay my taxes and I will surely die…but in between I will catalog all the good memories you provided for me. And that is special.
-Joey Browning-
Billy Smith was the key to the unbelievable successes of his basketball team all four years he attended Benton Consolidated High School. He became a freshman about the time I became an avid Benton Ranger fan. When Smith pulled on his number 22 jersey, he became larger than life. For me, Smith was Clark Kent in a phone booth slipping on his Superman shirt. The things he did on the playing floor were indescribable, but his life off the floor was even more impressive. As a young kid I watched him carry himself on the playing floor with a natural skill. He conducted himself in the real world with the maturity of a person much older than his age. I admired his playing talent and his lifestyle. He was someone I wanted to emulate.
Game day around our house was like a national holiday. The school day seemed to drag as I anticipated the final bell in the last class. What I longed for was the moment the family loaded into out station wagon and headed to the small BCHS gymnasium. Upon arrival we found long lines of fans snaking round the building. The big battle in Benton was getting a seat in the small gymnasium.
I would find my seat and wait for the chills to run down my spine when the public address system blasted out "Sweet Georgia Brown,” a rendition that introduced me to another world. For 32 minutes, nothing really mattered. It was Billy Smith against the world and I was there as his witness. There were other players who ran onto the floor, but it is the picture of Billy Smith in my mind’s eye that resonates most with me. He wasn't the biggest; the strongest; the most muscular, but he didn’t have to be. He had developed his natural abilities into a remarkable skill set that was awe inspiring. It was instinctive and you knew that when he had the ball in his hands great things were bound to happen.
Smith would probably say that it was his teammates that made him look good. That a natural statement for a humble man. His team’s roster did bear the names of some outstanding high school stars like Steve McCommons, Paul Dinkins, Robert Fort, Scott Hall, Rob Dunbar, Rob Hammond, Keith Tabor, Bucky Durham and others. All great players in their own right, but it is Smith and the things he did that stand-out most in my mind. His game and his life have been the perfect expression of unselfishness.
I telephone Smith and learned that he and his wife, Cathy were rearing their family and going about living life. When I told him I was going to write about a young kid’s idolization of a sports star, I’m sure the names of Kobe, Pujols and Roethlisberger popped into his mind, but when I told him the kid was me and the star was him the conversation took on a whole new meaning. Smith said he did not realize back then how deep the influence of the Running Rangers had penetrated his community. “I did appreciate the opportunity to be a member of the Running Rangers and I did realize how special it was to be a part of all of that. As a kid myself, I used to admire BCHS players and hoped, someday to play in that high school gym. To become one of those players is almost unbelievable. I would not change that for anything.”
Peggy Fleming, Olympic Gold Medalist noted “the first thing is to love your sport. Never do it to please someone else. It has to be yours!” Billy Smith made basketball his sport; he loved it; he nurtured it; and he excelled in it. In every game he played he moved the sport to a little higher level. In every game I saw him play I felt my admiration for him grow.
The Ranger tradition is like a never-ending story for our community. The long lines are gone, the ticket sales are nominal and Sweet Georgia Brown is just a memory. The memories live on. Out there are little boys and girls that are preparing and honing their skills so that, someday they may become a Billy Smith and when that happens, someone will write a tribute about him. That's what makes our community unique…the Running Ranger tradition never dies.
Thank you, Billy Smith for being yourself and for making game day the best day of the week for a young, admiring kid. You made the 1972-1975 years memorable. I will continue to pay my taxes and I will surely die…but in between I will catalog all the good memories you provided for me. And that is special.
-Joey Browning-
PULLING FOR PUJOLS...
By Joe R. Browning
My mother had a favorite saying, “Old age is reserved for a special few.” I remembered her wisdom when I watched Albert Pujols hit his 700th home run and became much more than a legend. Pujols major league career is coming to a close due primarily to his age. He is suffering from, “old age.”
Born Jose Alberto Pujols Acantara on January 15, 1980 in the Dominican Republic, this 42-year-old first baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals is selling more tickets for his home team than any other player. The downside of this story is that 42 is considered, “old age.” That darn near blows my mind.
March of next year, I will be celebrating my 84th birthday so I can speak of age with proven credentials. I am almost twice as old as Pujols and I don’t feel old. Just today, my doctor read me the results of my annual physical and she concluded by saying I had the body of a 70-year-old. Of course, I almost tripped over her white cane as I left the office.
My congratulations go to Alberto, not only for the home runs but for the greatness he gave the Angels and Dodgers when he was rejected by his home team. It must have been tough getting that 2011 letter saying, “You’re out of here,” from the Cardinal front office. It is bitter sweet that the Redbirds have not won a World Series since you left. But someone in that front office decided to let their past star close out his career on home turf. Little did they know the results of that decision.
I watched Mahammad Ali, Michael Jordan Joe Lewis and other greats call it quit because of age and it is not a pretty scene. I am tickled that Albert is doing it his way, not acting like an old man but sprinting to the end zone with a young man’s smile. Congratulations, Albert. Enjoy every second of this last hurrah because you're entering into a totally different world when you retire. From now on, your days will drag along, but your years will hurry by. Blink twice … and you’ll be 84.
Joe R. Browning was Sports Director for WFRX Sports and publisher of the Benton Evening News. [email protected].
Born Jose Alberto Pujols Acantara on January 15, 1980 in the Dominican Republic, this 42-year-old first baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals is selling more tickets for his home team than any other player. The downside of this story is that 42 is considered, “old age.” That darn near blows my mind.
March of next year, I will be celebrating my 84th birthday so I can speak of age with proven credentials. I am almost twice as old as Pujols and I don’t feel old. Just today, my doctor read me the results of my annual physical and she concluded by saying I had the body of a 70-year-old. Of course, I almost tripped over her white cane as I left the office.
My congratulations go to Alberto, not only for the home runs but for the greatness he gave the Angels and Dodgers when he was rejected by his home team. It must have been tough getting that 2011 letter saying, “You’re out of here,” from the Cardinal front office. It is bitter sweet that the Redbirds have not won a World Series since you left. But someone in that front office decided to let their past star close out his career on home turf. Little did they know the results of that decision.
I watched Mahammad Ali, Michael Jordan Joe Lewis and other greats call it quit because of age and it is not a pretty scene. I am tickled that Albert is doing it his way, not acting like an old man but sprinting to the end zone with a young man’s smile. Congratulations, Albert. Enjoy every second of this last hurrah because you're entering into a totally different world when you retire. From now on, your days will drag along, but your years will hurry by. Blink twice … and you’ll be 84.
Joe R. Browning was Sports Director for WFRX Sports and publisher of the Benton Evening News. [email protected].
FROM ONE PANHANDLER TO ANOTHER
By: Joe R. Browning
A panhandler is an urban beggar who typically stands on a street corner with an outstretched container in hand begging for money. Look closer, you will see that one in four are veterans, eight out of 10 are homeless and more than half will panhandle seven-days a week. For their effort, an aggressive panhandler usually collects less than $25 a day. They have to watch their backs both day and night due to violence. And, most are hungry all the time. Not a pretty picture and a less pretty existence. There are not many applicants vying for the position of panhandler.
For the most part, panhandling has a negative connotation in the general public. Throughout the United States panhandling is discouraged and scorned by many people. Governments have outlawed or at least imposed restrictions on panhandling to discourage the practice. But, passive panhandling falls under the First Amendment rights to free speech. Another source tells us, whoever mocks the poor insults His maker; he who is glad at calamity will not go unpunished. Heads-up fellow Christians.
I may be out-of-step with the norm, but I have an affinity for panhandlers. I suspect a large majority of my acquaintances will argue with me and some even scorn me for, “Supporting those bums!” I know they stink, they are dirty and they are personally unkempt. I don’t want to touch them and I don’t want them to touch me; a hang-up I’ve had way before the advent of Covid-19. I totally agree that our country would look better if panhandlers would fade back into the gutters and alleys and leave America to bask in its own natural beauty. Sort of like, “Out of sight and out of mind.”
But, isn’t that our prejudice overruling our conscience. We tend to attack panhandlers instead of offering help because … well because we are guilty of ignoring the homeless problem in our communities and we don’t want to be held accountable, especially by ourselves. It is far more comfortable to condemn than to comfort them. Yes, I am as guilty as the next person for not fighting harder for significant governmental and social intervention. We are America! If we decide to do so, like our President recently announced, we could lift this segment of society out of their pain and misery. Remember, we are a, “Can-do society.”
I respect panhandlers for their effort, their fortitude and their vision. Maybe it is my background in sales that causes me to think this way. I’ve had to sell myself, first to media executives and then to advertisers. I’ve had to pick up my pan and trod business-to-business selling air-time for my local radio station. I’ve walked from store to store enticing advertisers to take an ad in my newspaper. I had to, “Panhandle” for all kinds of ads and programs. But, even in my early years, I made more than $25 dollars a day. Honestly, there is little difference between what I did and what they are doing. At least, the resemblance is close enough to earn my respect.
Throughout my life I have given my money to panhandlers. My friends and some family members have questioned my actions. “They are going to take the money and buy drugs,” is the core argument. Everything they say may be true, but that is not my responsibility. My purpose is simply to give. The panhandler’s responsibility is to decide what to do with the money. My part is done when I part with the money.
I ask you to think with me for a moment. What would motivate you to wake up, maybe from a cardboard box-house, in very hot or very cold weather, find an elusive, unlocked bathroom and then hurry to a street corner? Your day begins and ends with a pan in your hand as you ignore the harassment of passing motorists, jeers from strangers and, most of all, your damaged self-respect. You continually remind yourself that your average day’s work will bring you less than $25. Do you want to try out for a street corner?
Religious and historical documents detail the existence of beggars since the beginning of time. I suspect that the poor will always be with us, but instead of a passive beggar, what about an active beggar. Somewhere I read, “Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find; knock and it will be open to you.” Oh, maybe that’s just another wives tale?
To help the panhandler make good choices, or at least to lessen the opportunity for him or her to make bad ones, I have started giving gift cards instead of cash. I believe it takes the element of temptation out of the transaction because they can only redeem their McDonald gift card for food and/or drinks. Sometimes I switch off and give Starbucks gift cards, but that means a lot less food and drinks. Twenty-five dollars will not go very far at Starbucks.
While I donate my small amount of money, I continue to contact the powers-to-be encouraging them to push harder for programs and policies that will help the poor. Until they act, my attention and a little of my money will go to the unfortunates. Sleep well tonight, fellow panhandlers. There go I save for the grace of God.
As Benton Township Supervisor, Joe Browning created 13 programs aimed at serving the poor and disabled in Franklin County. He was honored by the Illinois Association of Towns and Townships for his efforts. He now lives in Mesa, AZ. [email protected] (619) 212-9186.
For the most part, panhandling has a negative connotation in the general public. Throughout the United States panhandling is discouraged and scorned by many people. Governments have outlawed or at least imposed restrictions on panhandling to discourage the practice. But, passive panhandling falls under the First Amendment rights to free speech. Another source tells us, whoever mocks the poor insults His maker; he who is glad at calamity will not go unpunished. Heads-up fellow Christians.
I may be out-of-step with the norm, but I have an affinity for panhandlers. I suspect a large majority of my acquaintances will argue with me and some even scorn me for, “Supporting those bums!” I know they stink, they are dirty and they are personally unkempt. I don’t want to touch them and I don’t want them to touch me; a hang-up I’ve had way before the advent of Covid-19. I totally agree that our country would look better if panhandlers would fade back into the gutters and alleys and leave America to bask in its own natural beauty. Sort of like, “Out of sight and out of mind.”
But, isn’t that our prejudice overruling our conscience. We tend to attack panhandlers instead of offering help because … well because we are guilty of ignoring the homeless problem in our communities and we don’t want to be held accountable, especially by ourselves. It is far more comfortable to condemn than to comfort them. Yes, I am as guilty as the next person for not fighting harder for significant governmental and social intervention. We are America! If we decide to do so, like our President recently announced, we could lift this segment of society out of their pain and misery. Remember, we are a, “Can-do society.”
I respect panhandlers for their effort, their fortitude and their vision. Maybe it is my background in sales that causes me to think this way. I’ve had to sell myself, first to media executives and then to advertisers. I’ve had to pick up my pan and trod business-to-business selling air-time for my local radio station. I’ve walked from store to store enticing advertisers to take an ad in my newspaper. I had to, “Panhandle” for all kinds of ads and programs. But, even in my early years, I made more than $25 dollars a day. Honestly, there is little difference between what I did and what they are doing. At least, the resemblance is close enough to earn my respect.
Throughout my life I have given my money to panhandlers. My friends and some family members have questioned my actions. “They are going to take the money and buy drugs,” is the core argument. Everything they say may be true, but that is not my responsibility. My purpose is simply to give. The panhandler’s responsibility is to decide what to do with the money. My part is done when I part with the money.
I ask you to think with me for a moment. What would motivate you to wake up, maybe from a cardboard box-house, in very hot or very cold weather, find an elusive, unlocked bathroom and then hurry to a street corner? Your day begins and ends with a pan in your hand as you ignore the harassment of passing motorists, jeers from strangers and, most of all, your damaged self-respect. You continually remind yourself that your average day’s work will bring you less than $25. Do you want to try out for a street corner?
Religious and historical documents detail the existence of beggars since the beginning of time. I suspect that the poor will always be with us, but instead of a passive beggar, what about an active beggar. Somewhere I read, “Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find; knock and it will be open to you.” Oh, maybe that’s just another wives tale?
To help the panhandler make good choices, or at least to lessen the opportunity for him or her to make bad ones, I have started giving gift cards instead of cash. I believe it takes the element of temptation out of the transaction because they can only redeem their McDonald gift card for food and/or drinks. Sometimes I switch off and give Starbucks gift cards, but that means a lot less food and drinks. Twenty-five dollars will not go very far at Starbucks.
While I donate my small amount of money, I continue to contact the powers-to-be encouraging them to push harder for programs and policies that will help the poor. Until they act, my attention and a little of my money will go to the unfortunates. Sleep well tonight, fellow panhandlers. There go I save for the grace of God.
As Benton Township Supervisor, Joe Browning created 13 programs aimed at serving the poor and disabled in Franklin County. He was honored by the Illinois Association of Towns and Townships for his efforts. He now lives in Mesa, AZ. [email protected] (619) 212-9186.
Hey Fellers, This Man is Alive!!!
He was riding trips at the coal mine.
A trip-rider was a coal miner whose job was to hang onto a moving railroad car while it rolled under a chute until the car was filled with lumps of coal. In the 1930s, Bell and Zoller Coal Company’s Mine No. 1 near Zeigler, IL paid coal miners to perform this dangerous job. It was how the company ‘built-a-train’ by filling it with the coal they had brought to the surface and was now shipping to their customers across the nation.
A trip-rider was just one of several thousand coal miners who relied on the industry for their livelihood. It was a booming industry in the 30’s with customers seeking the ‘hot-burning’ bituminous coal from underground. In southern Illinois, the coal veins ran a little over 600 feet underground and was 12’ high and 35’ wide. Several passageways, called entries and workrooms were constructed to provide space for the equipment to extraction the coal. The nation’s unemployment rate was almost 20% so men were lining up at coal mines seeking employment. A man working a hard 10 hour shift would take home less than a dollar a day, but then again, the average price of a home was $1,335. Daily living was a lot cheaper with a loaf of bread costing just .07 cents, a gallon of gasoline was .24 cents and a gallon of milk was .26 cents. Becoming a miner meant that your family could be fed, clothed and sheltered. The old expression, “Got a dime, buddy?” had real meaning in the 30s.
The trip-rider disregarded the dangers he would encounter to eke out a living for himself and his family. It was one of the most dangerous professions in America. More than 2,000 men lost their lives in 1930. That fact, coupled with thousands of crippling injuries and the long lasting effect of the Black Lung Disease, gave proof that a man was jeopardizing his very existence when he entered the profession. But, coal miners had to dismiss the dangerous aspect to earn a paycheck. The trip-rider was a strong and healthy man. He had a steady job, an old car, a pregnant wife and three young sons. He knew his family of five relied on his meager pay packet for their subsistence.
Even with the threat of injury or death, the trip-rider felt lucky to have a job. There were few options in the southern part of Illinois … a perpetually depressed area of the nation. Not only was mining coal hard work with low pay … it was mentally tiring. A coal miner would often see his fellow workers carrying out one of his buddies for burial. The thought of death and injury were constant companions with the entire family of an underground coal miners. Bedrooms were filled with women and children praying that their husbands and fathers made it safely through another shift of work.
The morning of May 20, 1935 was an ordinary day. It was Monday and a rain shower had settled over the neighborhood. It was just 11-days after the trip-rider’s 29-birthday and he was feeling real good. His wife and children were all healthy and he was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his first baby girl.
As he climbed in his old model A Ford, little did he know that it would be weeks before he would return to his loving family? Back at the coal mines, a boulder the size of a football hung ominously in the chute and it had the trip-rider’s name written all over it.
The accident was sudden but predictable. His duties as a trip-rider involved jumping onto a moving railroad car, pulling the lever of the overhead chute that filled the cars with lumps of coal. Once the car was full, the trip-rider guided the railroad car to a side-track to be connected to a train. The trip-rider would return and repeat the procedure with the next railroad car. The process continued until a full train was formed and began the trip across country. It was the distribution process at that time for an underground coal mines.
Periodically, the overhead shoot accidentally sprung-open and dropped huge lumps of coal and/or boulders onto the ground. On several occasions, the falling debris barely missed the trip-rider. He kept reporting the malfunction to his boss, Sam Matier and Union Safety Committeeman, Jack Lynos. They took the trip-riders concerns to company officials, but nothing happened. It was later learned that the company had ordered that production not be interrupted for any reason. It was a period when functional unions were just beginning to get a foothold in the mining industry. Coal companies had more of an interest in profits than they did in safety. Mine officials turned a deft ear to unsafe conditions in lieu of profits. The broken chute was not repaired.
On that rainy summer day, the first shift had just begun work when the worst possible thing that could happen … did happen. The chute abruptly sprang open directly about the trip-rider and the boulder struck him squarely on the head. The impact knocked him away from the moving railroad car avoiding certain death or serious injury. His coworkers said later that the miner’s brain was visible through the opening in his skull. Company officials assessed the situation and declared him dead, killed from a traumatic blow to his head. They directed the men to cover the body and wait for the funeral director’s ambulance. As the men unrolled the tarpaulin over the lifeless body, one of the miners noticed a flicker in the trip-rider’s eye. He turned to the other miners and shouted, “Hey fellers, this man is alive.”
Company officials ordered the victim to be transported to a make-shift first aid facility in a nearby town. The untrained medical staff cleaned his wound and lay him aside. There was little a rural first-aid station could do for an injury of that magnitude. Fellow miners told the wife of the injured miner that they felt that the medical staff was just waiting for him to die. Several of his coworkers gathered outside the first aid station to complain about the negligence exhibited by company officials. They were also upset that company officials knew about the broken chute and did nothing to repair it, that they took too long to retrieve the victim from the accident site and that they were slow in treating him at the first aid station. Most of all, they were mad that the company had not sent him to a real hospital.
“Get my husband some help,” was her plea. After three days of protesting, the wife’s demands were met. Company officials authorized the transfer of the injured miner to St. Luke’s Hospital in St Louis. The move was life-saving. St. Luke’s medical staff was top-notch, but coal company officials had limited their care to just 15 days. After that, the company said they would terminate payment. Medical staff performed wonders during his brief stay. They treated his serious head wound and on the 15-day St. Luke’s doctors taped up his head, shot him full of antibiotics and turned him out on the streets of St. Louis. It was a time before the wide-spread use of telephones, especially in rural Franklin County, IL, so the miner had no way of alerting his family back in southern Illinois. Even if he could have contacted them, there was no money for a trip to pick him up. He found himself alone … broke … sick … and 100-miles from home. His only mode of transportation was to walk to a nearby highway and hitch-hike a ride back to his rural home.
The young miner struggled through some terrible times during his five years of recuperation, but he was an achiever. Eventually, he was well enough to return as a laborer at Orient #1 Coal Mines. He earned his safety committeeman’s certificate and was elected to that position in the early 50s. Out of necessity, he entered politics. He needed a steady job. He ran for and was twice elected coroner and twice elected sheriff of Franklin County.
The negligence of the coal company was made public during a compensation hearing in 1938. A district judge ordered Bell and Zoller Coal Company to pay the trip-rider for his injuries and for lost time at work. The judge capped the compensation at $1,300 and, minus court costs, the amount was set at $812. The company objected to that amount and the judge reduced the judgment to $600. Six Hundred dollars for more than five years of excruciating pain and five years of denying his family proper subsistence. The coal company’s thirst for profit rose its ugly head yet again. But the good news. The couple took that money and purchased a 57 1/2-acre farm south of Benton, IL.
(Editor’s note) Sheriff Barney Cecil Browning was one of nine children born to Robert Alonzo Browning (1872-1953) and Ella Nora Karnes Browning (1872-1938). He was a proud 10th generation American deriving his lineage from Capt. John Browning (1588-1622), (1st generation American), born in Gravesend, England, and traveled to America in 1622 on the good ship, ‘Abigail.’ Barney Browning credits his 1920 marriage to his lifelong sweetheart, Maude Laverne Kearney Browning, as his greatest achievement. The couple had eight children and 35 grandchildren. Maude Kearney Browning was named the 1972 Illinois Mother of the Year and competed for the nationally title.
On June 9, 1987, at the age of 81-years and 30-days, Barney Cecil Browning died of a massive heart attack while on the operating table at St. Luke’s Hospital in St Louis, MO. It was a sister hospital to the one that treated his skull fracture 52-years earlier.
Be sure to tune in to the RetiredRoaders.com podcast hosted by Joe & Evelyn Browning. It features stories like The Trip Rider, experiences in the lives of the husband and wife podcasters. Just go to Anchor.com and type in RETIREDROADERS. It’s free, unedited and fun.
A trip-rider was just one of several thousand coal miners who relied on the industry for their livelihood. It was a booming industry in the 30’s with customers seeking the ‘hot-burning’ bituminous coal from underground. In southern Illinois, the coal veins ran a little over 600 feet underground and was 12’ high and 35’ wide. Several passageways, called entries and workrooms were constructed to provide space for the equipment to extraction the coal. The nation’s unemployment rate was almost 20% so men were lining up at coal mines seeking employment. A man working a hard 10 hour shift would take home less than a dollar a day, but then again, the average price of a home was $1,335. Daily living was a lot cheaper with a loaf of bread costing just .07 cents, a gallon of gasoline was .24 cents and a gallon of milk was .26 cents. Becoming a miner meant that your family could be fed, clothed and sheltered. The old expression, “Got a dime, buddy?” had real meaning in the 30s.
The trip-rider disregarded the dangers he would encounter to eke out a living for himself and his family. It was one of the most dangerous professions in America. More than 2,000 men lost their lives in 1930. That fact, coupled with thousands of crippling injuries and the long lasting effect of the Black Lung Disease, gave proof that a man was jeopardizing his very existence when he entered the profession. But, coal miners had to dismiss the dangerous aspect to earn a paycheck. The trip-rider was a strong and healthy man. He had a steady job, an old car, a pregnant wife and three young sons. He knew his family of five relied on his meager pay packet for their subsistence.
Even with the threat of injury or death, the trip-rider felt lucky to have a job. There were few options in the southern part of Illinois … a perpetually depressed area of the nation. Not only was mining coal hard work with low pay … it was mentally tiring. A coal miner would often see his fellow workers carrying out one of his buddies for burial. The thought of death and injury were constant companions with the entire family of an underground coal miners. Bedrooms were filled with women and children praying that their husbands and fathers made it safely through another shift of work.
The morning of May 20, 1935 was an ordinary day. It was Monday and a rain shower had settled over the neighborhood. It was just 11-days after the trip-rider’s 29-birthday and he was feeling real good. His wife and children were all healthy and he was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his first baby girl.
As he climbed in his old model A Ford, little did he know that it would be weeks before he would return to his loving family? Back at the coal mines, a boulder the size of a football hung ominously in the chute and it had the trip-rider’s name written all over it.
The accident was sudden but predictable. His duties as a trip-rider involved jumping onto a moving railroad car, pulling the lever of the overhead chute that filled the cars with lumps of coal. Once the car was full, the trip-rider guided the railroad car to a side-track to be connected to a train. The trip-rider would return and repeat the procedure with the next railroad car. The process continued until a full train was formed and began the trip across country. It was the distribution process at that time for an underground coal mines.
Periodically, the overhead shoot accidentally sprung-open and dropped huge lumps of coal and/or boulders onto the ground. On several occasions, the falling debris barely missed the trip-rider. He kept reporting the malfunction to his boss, Sam Matier and Union Safety Committeeman, Jack Lynos. They took the trip-riders concerns to company officials, but nothing happened. It was later learned that the company had ordered that production not be interrupted for any reason. It was a period when functional unions were just beginning to get a foothold in the mining industry. Coal companies had more of an interest in profits than they did in safety. Mine officials turned a deft ear to unsafe conditions in lieu of profits. The broken chute was not repaired.
On that rainy summer day, the first shift had just begun work when the worst possible thing that could happen … did happen. The chute abruptly sprang open directly about the trip-rider and the boulder struck him squarely on the head. The impact knocked him away from the moving railroad car avoiding certain death or serious injury. His coworkers said later that the miner’s brain was visible through the opening in his skull. Company officials assessed the situation and declared him dead, killed from a traumatic blow to his head. They directed the men to cover the body and wait for the funeral director’s ambulance. As the men unrolled the tarpaulin over the lifeless body, one of the miners noticed a flicker in the trip-rider’s eye. He turned to the other miners and shouted, “Hey fellers, this man is alive.”
Company officials ordered the victim to be transported to a make-shift first aid facility in a nearby town. The untrained medical staff cleaned his wound and lay him aside. There was little a rural first-aid station could do for an injury of that magnitude. Fellow miners told the wife of the injured miner that they felt that the medical staff was just waiting for him to die. Several of his coworkers gathered outside the first aid station to complain about the negligence exhibited by company officials. They were also upset that company officials knew about the broken chute and did nothing to repair it, that they took too long to retrieve the victim from the accident site and that they were slow in treating him at the first aid station. Most of all, they were mad that the company had not sent him to a real hospital.
“Get my husband some help,” was her plea. After three days of protesting, the wife’s demands were met. Company officials authorized the transfer of the injured miner to St. Luke’s Hospital in St Louis. The move was life-saving. St. Luke’s medical staff was top-notch, but coal company officials had limited their care to just 15 days. After that, the company said they would terminate payment. Medical staff performed wonders during his brief stay. They treated his serious head wound and on the 15-day St. Luke’s doctors taped up his head, shot him full of antibiotics and turned him out on the streets of St. Louis. It was a time before the wide-spread use of telephones, especially in rural Franklin County, IL, so the miner had no way of alerting his family back in southern Illinois. Even if he could have contacted them, there was no money for a trip to pick him up. He found himself alone … broke … sick … and 100-miles from home. His only mode of transportation was to walk to a nearby highway and hitch-hike a ride back to his rural home.
The young miner struggled through some terrible times during his five years of recuperation, but he was an achiever. Eventually, he was well enough to return as a laborer at Orient #1 Coal Mines. He earned his safety committeeman’s certificate and was elected to that position in the early 50s. Out of necessity, he entered politics. He needed a steady job. He ran for and was twice elected coroner and twice elected sheriff of Franklin County.
The negligence of the coal company was made public during a compensation hearing in 1938. A district judge ordered Bell and Zoller Coal Company to pay the trip-rider for his injuries and for lost time at work. The judge capped the compensation at $1,300 and, minus court costs, the amount was set at $812. The company objected to that amount and the judge reduced the judgment to $600. Six Hundred dollars for more than five years of excruciating pain and five years of denying his family proper subsistence. The coal company’s thirst for profit rose its ugly head yet again. But the good news. The couple took that money and purchased a 57 1/2-acre farm south of Benton, IL.
(Editor’s note) Sheriff Barney Cecil Browning was one of nine children born to Robert Alonzo Browning (1872-1953) and Ella Nora Karnes Browning (1872-1938). He was a proud 10th generation American deriving his lineage from Capt. John Browning (1588-1622), (1st generation American), born in Gravesend, England, and traveled to America in 1622 on the good ship, ‘Abigail.’ Barney Browning credits his 1920 marriage to his lifelong sweetheart, Maude Laverne Kearney Browning, as his greatest achievement. The couple had eight children and 35 grandchildren. Maude Kearney Browning was named the 1972 Illinois Mother of the Year and competed for the nationally title.
On June 9, 1987, at the age of 81-years and 30-days, Barney Cecil Browning died of a massive heart attack while on the operating table at St. Luke’s Hospital in St Louis, MO. It was a sister hospital to the one that treated his skull fracture 52-years earlier.
Be sure to tune in to the RetiredRoaders.com podcast hosted by Joe & Evelyn Browning. It features stories like The Trip Rider, experiences in the lives of the husband and wife podcasters. Just go to Anchor.com and type in RETIREDROADERS. It’s free, unedited and fun.
REND LAKE WATER FESTIVAL
CELEBRATING 50 YEARS
50th Year for the Rend Lake Water Festival in Benton, IL.
“The purpose of life is not to be happy- but to matter, to be productive, to be useful, and to have it make some difference that you have lived at all.” –Leo Rosten
Another year has come and preparations are underway for the annual Rend Lake Water Festival, in the small southern Illinois town of Benton. Over five decades, literally hundreds if not thousands of volunteers have worked to make this annual event a success. Today, I’m going to tell you about one of those volunteers who lived, not in Benton but in the neighboring town of West Frankfort.
In the 70s and 80s, Art Smith was the owner and operator of WFRX, Franklin County’s only radio station. He knew what it would take to promote the health and success of the business community. It was not surprising that Smith soon assumed a leadership role in his hometown’s chamber of commerce. He encouraged other chamber members to be proactive in the promotion of West Frankfort and was extremely successful introducing and managing all kinds of town-wide events. Many of his initiatives remain popular today. He also was an early believer that the Rend Lake Water Festival would not only help businesses in Benton, but the whole of southern Illinois.
In the Mid-60, Smith sent me into the north half of Franklin County to sell air time on his radio station. One of my duties was to attend the monthly meetings of the Benton Chamber of Commerce. He was pleased when, in 1971, I was elected to its board of directors. He made sure the radio station paid my membership dues, reimbursed expenses and gave me paid time off work. He made known, from Day 1 that whatever I needed to do for the chamber, would be at the station’s expense. Without his support, I would not have been able to have been one of the volunteers that created and implemented the framework of the festival.
I loved the chamber activities and grew with the organization. Smith was pleased when I was elected to the board of Directors and, in 1971 elevated to vice president. The chamber president was Robert Taylor, a bright young former naval officer who was a true leader. Taylor made it easy and interesting to serve on the chamber board. He was making Taylor Motors one of the most successful Ford dealerships in the nation and was set to breathe new life into the chamber.
It didn’t take him long before he surrounded himself with other business leaders. Jim Knight, owner of Knights Furniture, Howard Payne and Dave Bauer from the Bank of Benton, Everett Collins, co-owner of Barton and Collins Furniture, Stanley Hatchett, manager of Sherman’s Department Store, Doyle Goffinett, manager of P.N. Hirsch Department Store and David Webster, co-owner of Flowers by Dave, all sat on the board of directors.
In the early 70s Taylor told the board that he wanted to create an association that would oversee promotions in Benton. It would function as a subcommittee of the chamber designed to change the perceived purpose of the organization. He kept the main body of the chamber working on the political, business and social issues of the day. His vision was to sponsor promotions that would have a direct effect on the business community. He looked to his vice president to head the new association
The Benton Promotion Association was comprised of a collection of business owners, professional people, manufacturers and individuals. Members were asked to pay an annual fee of $35 with the promise that all funds would be spent in their behalf. We developed and published a calendar of events detailing 12 town-wide promotions, one for every month of the year.
The merchants liked the promise of the creation and implementation of an annual festival that would attract area residents to our town. Taylor and I travel to area towns and visited with their promotional people. We were working on the creation of a town-wide event when Taylor, Knight, and I were called into a meeting with Larry Foster, manager of the Rend Lake Conservancy District. Foster, a flamboyant get-things-done kind of guy, had joined with the U.S. Corps of Engineers to create the framework for a celebration of the 1972 dedication of Rend Lake. The 19,000 acre body of fresh water would later quince the thirst of tens of thousands of residents in dozens of southern Illinois towns. Remembering that the original idea of the lake was Senator’s Paul Douglas’ remedy to an area-wide drought in the 40s and 50s.
At the meeting, Foster said he wanted a huge festival and he insisted that it be held at the lake’s dam sight. He said he wanted the Benton Chamber to oversee it. Taylor was very diplomatic. He agreed that a ribbon-cutting ceremony that would officially open the lake should be held at the dam sight. The newly formed Benton Promotion Association would create and implement a water festival to celebrate the dedication. The Benton Chamber would act as the parent organization of the first Rend Lake Water Festival, an event that would take place in Benton.” Before Foster could say anything, Taylor began describing what the festival would look like. “There will be a huge parade, a clean and safe carnival, a Miss Rend Lake Beauty Contest with a grand prize of a One Thousand Dollar bill going to the winner. There will also be a little Mr. and Miss Rend Lake contest and more. And,” Taylor emphasized, “On Saturday night a Governor’s Ball will be held at the Benton Country Club. Governor Dan Walker will be invited to attend and you, Mr. Foster and your board will be honored guests.” When Taylor finished, there was nothing else to be said. As we left the meeting, Taylor turned to me and said, “Now, the BPA has a water festival.”
The first Rend Lake Water Festival was a success. Ann Lacy of Pinckneyville pocketing $1,000 as Miss Rend Lake beating out more than two dozen beautiful southern Illinois ladies. The Breckenridge Marching Unit was the highlight of the 90-minute parade that wound through the streets of Benton. High school bands strutted their stuff from virtually every community south of Salem. Sparky Choisser rallied the Benton Booster Club and fed the parade participants a full meal featuring roasted chicken. Every category of the festival exceeded expectations.
The success in the planning, preparation and implementation of the first festival is evident by the fact that the event continues to this day. Credit for that success is shared by those mention above and the many others who gave unselfishly of their time and talent as volunteers. There are also a vast number of employers, like Art Smith who allowed and even encouraged their paid employees to participate in the community activities.
Some years later, I asked Smith why he let me take so much time off from work for chamber activities and he said, “There is a lot more to life than work! Making our communities better is not just an obligation, it’s a privilege.” I certainly feel it was my privilege to have joined with so many other great individuals to produce this annual event.
Happy 50th, Rend Lake Water Festival. You are living legend.
Joe R. Browning is a resident of Mesa, AZ. [email protected].
“The purpose of life is not to be happy- but to matter, to be productive, to be useful, and to have it make some difference that you have lived at all.” –Leo Rosten
Another year has come and preparations are underway for the annual Rend Lake Water Festival, in the small southern Illinois town of Benton. Over five decades, literally hundreds if not thousands of volunteers have worked to make this annual event a success. Today, I’m going to tell you about one of those volunteers who lived, not in Benton but in the neighboring town of West Frankfort.
In the 70s and 80s, Art Smith was the owner and operator of WFRX, Franklin County’s only radio station. He knew what it would take to promote the health and success of the business community. It was not surprising that Smith soon assumed a leadership role in his hometown’s chamber of commerce. He encouraged other chamber members to be proactive in the promotion of West Frankfort and was extremely successful introducing and managing all kinds of town-wide events. Many of his initiatives remain popular today. He also was an early believer that the Rend Lake Water Festival would not only help businesses in Benton, but the whole of southern Illinois.
In the Mid-60, Smith sent me into the north half of Franklin County to sell air time on his radio station. One of my duties was to attend the monthly meetings of the Benton Chamber of Commerce. He was pleased when, in 1971, I was elected to its board of directors. He made sure the radio station paid my membership dues, reimbursed expenses and gave me paid time off work. He made known, from Day 1 that whatever I needed to do for the chamber, would be at the station’s expense. Without his support, I would not have been able to have been one of the volunteers that created and implemented the framework of the festival.
I loved the chamber activities and grew with the organization. Smith was pleased when I was elected to the board of Directors and, in 1971 elevated to vice president. The chamber president was Robert Taylor, a bright young former naval officer who was a true leader. Taylor made it easy and interesting to serve on the chamber board. He was making Taylor Motors one of the most successful Ford dealerships in the nation and was set to breathe new life into the chamber.
It didn’t take him long before he surrounded himself with other business leaders. Jim Knight, owner of Knights Furniture, Howard Payne and Dave Bauer from the Bank of Benton, Everett Collins, co-owner of Barton and Collins Furniture, Stanley Hatchett, manager of Sherman’s Department Store, Doyle Goffinett, manager of P.N. Hirsch Department Store and David Webster, co-owner of Flowers by Dave, all sat on the board of directors.
In the early 70s Taylor told the board that he wanted to create an association that would oversee promotions in Benton. It would function as a subcommittee of the chamber designed to change the perceived purpose of the organization. He kept the main body of the chamber working on the political, business and social issues of the day. His vision was to sponsor promotions that would have a direct effect on the business community. He looked to his vice president to head the new association
The Benton Promotion Association was comprised of a collection of business owners, professional people, manufacturers and individuals. Members were asked to pay an annual fee of $35 with the promise that all funds would be spent in their behalf. We developed and published a calendar of events detailing 12 town-wide promotions, one for every month of the year.
The merchants liked the promise of the creation and implementation of an annual festival that would attract area residents to our town. Taylor and I travel to area towns and visited with their promotional people. We were working on the creation of a town-wide event when Taylor, Knight, and I were called into a meeting with Larry Foster, manager of the Rend Lake Conservancy District. Foster, a flamboyant get-things-done kind of guy, had joined with the U.S. Corps of Engineers to create the framework for a celebration of the 1972 dedication of Rend Lake. The 19,000 acre body of fresh water would later quince the thirst of tens of thousands of residents in dozens of southern Illinois towns. Remembering that the original idea of the lake was Senator’s Paul Douglas’ remedy to an area-wide drought in the 40s and 50s.
At the meeting, Foster said he wanted a huge festival and he insisted that it be held at the lake’s dam sight. He said he wanted the Benton Chamber to oversee it. Taylor was very diplomatic. He agreed that a ribbon-cutting ceremony that would officially open the lake should be held at the dam sight. The newly formed Benton Promotion Association would create and implement a water festival to celebrate the dedication. The Benton Chamber would act as the parent organization of the first Rend Lake Water Festival, an event that would take place in Benton.” Before Foster could say anything, Taylor began describing what the festival would look like. “There will be a huge parade, a clean and safe carnival, a Miss Rend Lake Beauty Contest with a grand prize of a One Thousand Dollar bill going to the winner. There will also be a little Mr. and Miss Rend Lake contest and more. And,” Taylor emphasized, “On Saturday night a Governor’s Ball will be held at the Benton Country Club. Governor Dan Walker will be invited to attend and you, Mr. Foster and your board will be honored guests.” When Taylor finished, there was nothing else to be said. As we left the meeting, Taylor turned to me and said, “Now, the BPA has a water festival.”
The first Rend Lake Water Festival was a success. Ann Lacy of Pinckneyville pocketing $1,000 as Miss Rend Lake beating out more than two dozen beautiful southern Illinois ladies. The Breckenridge Marching Unit was the highlight of the 90-minute parade that wound through the streets of Benton. High school bands strutted their stuff from virtually every community south of Salem. Sparky Choisser rallied the Benton Booster Club and fed the parade participants a full meal featuring roasted chicken. Every category of the festival exceeded expectations.
The success in the planning, preparation and implementation of the first festival is evident by the fact that the event continues to this day. Credit for that success is shared by those mention above and the many others who gave unselfishly of their time and talent as volunteers. There are also a vast number of employers, like Art Smith who allowed and even encouraged their paid employees to participate in the community activities.
Some years later, I asked Smith why he let me take so much time off from work for chamber activities and he said, “There is a lot more to life than work! Making our communities better is not just an obligation, it’s a privilege.” I certainly feel it was my privilege to have joined with so many other great individuals to produce this annual event.
Happy 50th, Rend Lake Water Festival. You are living legend.
Joe R. Browning is a resident of Mesa, AZ. [email protected].
The Sage of the Bright Red Bumper Sticker
Politics presents itself as a platform for great adventure offering all kinds of opportunities and fun. Other times, politics can be negative by squelching dreams and aspirations. Through it all, positive or negative, politics is definitely a good setting for repurposing. Examples include politicians who win comeback elections after they are seemingly cast into obscurity. But, this commentary is not about people. It’s about a campaign item. Not just an ordinary item … but a bright red bumper sticker.
In 1974, I gathered substantial support in my quest to represent the residents in Illinois’ 21st Congressional District, a large area that included the southern-most counties in Illinois. It was a long-shot political campaign, but I was young, enthused and had a strong Franklin County base. One of my faithful supporters was Warren Petty, a local dentist who worked hard in my campaign. After a long day of campaigning, Petty asked Sparky Choisser at the Benton Evening News to print 10,000 bright red bumper stickers that simply read, “BROWNING.”
In 1974, I gathered substantial support in my quest to represent the residents in Illinois’ 21st Congressional District, a large area that included the southern-most counties in Illinois. It was a long-shot political campaign, but I was young, enthused and had a strong Franklin County base. One of my faithful supporters was Warren Petty, a local dentist who worked hard in my campaign. After a long day of campaigning, Petty asked Sparky Choisser at the Benton Evening News to print 10,000 bright red bumper stickers that simply read, “BROWNING.”
Choisser delivered several boxes of stickers to my rural Benton home and the campaign committee began distributing them. They did an excellent job, but when the election was over, there were a few boxes of stickers still in my garage. After the votes were counted, I licked my political wounds and congratulated U.S. Congressman Paul Simon, who incidentally used that election to repurpose his political career. I went on to run for and was elected Benton Township Supervisor using the repurposed bumper sticker in my campaign. The sticker traveled with me through the following campaigns during my 16-years as supervisor.
One Sunday morning, I was approached by a fellow church member who asked me for my support in his campaign for Mayor of Benton. I told Leland Brown that I would not only support him, but I would be his bumper-sticker-chairman. I took the remaining boxes of, “BROWNING” bumper stickers back to Choisser and asked him to cut them down to, “BROWN.” He did just that and delivered the new and improved bumper stickers to the next Mayor of Benton.
I breathed a sigh of relief concerning the repurposing of the bright red bumper stickers. Little did I know that there was another chapter in the sticker saga? During a day of spring housecleaning, my wife found the ends and pieces of the bumper stickers in another box in our garage. On a beautiful fall day, a neighbor of mine came to my home and asked for my support in his bid to become a member of the local school board. I told Keith Ing that I would not only support him, but I would become his bumper-sticker-chairman. The next morning, I delivered several bright red, “ING” bumper stickers to a young man who became an outstanding school board member.
I have fond memories of every political campaign I was involved in, but the ones I remember most involve Warren Petty’s bright red bumper stickers. I hope the repurposed campaign item means as much to Brown and Ing as it does to Browning.
From The Mind of a Teen
REND LAKE...ONE OF THE SEVEN WONDERS OF ILLINOIS
The period following WW II was, for most of the United States, a period of optimism and prosperity. Allied forces had been successful in defeating two super powers in a relatively short period of time. The economy was on fire and the outlook was optimistic. By all measure, the country had given birth to the great American dream. That was not entirely true in southern Illinois. We were elated and grateful for the victories over the axis powers and anxious to get back to the good life. But, southern Illinois was in the midst of a multi-year drought. And, the water shortage got serious.
The drought had reached from Ohio to Nevada and from Wyoming to Georgia with southern Illinois being hit the hardest. Lake Benton, a 68-acre fish bowl north of town, was our prime source of drinking water and it remained frightening low most of the time. Townspeople and especially the farm community were crying help.
Before long, the crisis caught the attention of Paul Douglas, the senior senator from Illinois who had become a national figure, Kenneth Gray a local star in the U.S. House of Representative, Bert Baker, a workhorse in the Illinois House, Wayne Fitzgerald, a true salesman who was in the Illinois Senate. Local, state and national leaders soon got on board. The powers-to-be realized that a safe and secure water supply was a necessity for the residents in Illinois’ Deep South.
It was in the 60s when that gaggle of powerbrokers took a walk into the briar brushes and chiggers near Rend City, IL and visualized what turned out to become an almost 19,000 acre mecca known nationwide as Rend Lake.
I was a student at Benton Consolidated High School in the 50s when Senator Douglas, a georgist economist, mapped out his plans for a water supply. I remember 1954 as probably the most severe year of the drought in Franklin County. All residents, especially those in the farm community, were struggling with the water shortage.
Fast forward through the 60s and into the 70s. I was an employee of WFRX Radio and vice president of the Benton Chamber of Commerce Board of Directors. The chamber president was Robert Taylor, a former Navy officer who exuded leadership and confidence. In 1972, Taylor asked me to form a subcommittee that would work directly with the businesses in Benton. The Benton Promotion Association (BPA) was the result of that request with its greatest contribution the creation of the Rend Lake Water Festival. Along with Taylor was Jim Knight, an energetic young businessman who owned his own furniture store. The three of us were summoned to a meeting with Larry Foster, manager of the Rend Lake Conservancy District. Foster’s organization had joined with the U.S. Corps of Engineers and the state of Illinois to create the lake. Foster said he needed our help with the formation of the dedication. Taylor told Foster that the chamber would help organize the dedication, but the chamber wanted a festival to be held in Benton. When we left the meeting, Taylor said, “Now we have a real festival.” That night the framework of the BPA was completed and the Rend Lake Water Festival was born. Knight agreed to become the Rend Lake Parade chairman and did such a good job it became perpetual. Every year the parade winds through the streets of Benton.
Other chamber members stepped forward and before long the framework of a festival was complete. Founding members included Howard Payne, president of the Bank of Benton; Stanley Hatchett, managers of Sherman’s Department Store; Doyle Goffinet, manager of P.N. Hirsch; Everett Collins, co-owner of Barton and Collins Furniture Company, Dave Webster, owner of Flowers by Dave and Dave Bauer, Chief Financial Officer for the Bank of Benton. And, there were others, in fact, before the initial festival was launched, almost every citizen in the Benton area got involved. Volunteerism was at its height in the 70s.
While we were creating a water festival, political leaders were moving toward a lake. Through the use of government earmarks, Rend Lake was becoming a reality. There have been a lot of negative press condemning earmarks, Congressional funding directives slipped into major pieces of legislation. Without earmarks, there would be no Rend Lake. Earmarks guaranteed funding and that in turn allowed the United States Army Corps of Engineers to begin work on the dam of the Big Muddy River. The Lake’s authorization was finalized in 1962 and it took another decade for the lake to create a shoreline stretching 162 miles with the average depth 10 feet and the maximum depth 35 feet.
It was 1972 when several townspeople joined local, state and national leaders at the dam site for a day of speeches and celebration. Senator Douglas could not make it due to an upset loss to Charles Percy in the 1966 election. Gray, Lt. Governor Paul Simon, Baker, Fitzgerald and others were in attendance. We knew it was a special time at a special place, but few of us could never have imagined the benefits and recreational opportunities this body of water would deliver. And deliver it has. Eventually Rend Lake brought an abundance of fresh, clean, pure water to the residents in 35 towns and water districts with over 200 miles of distribution lines in seven southern Illinois counties. Over seven million visitors compliment Rend Lake every year to enjoy over 800 campsites and five public camp grounds. Anglers from around the world drag record-size fish from its waters. Recreation on and around the lake is almost unlimited.
Rend Lake has proven that something very good can come out of a very bad situation. The severe drought of the 50s led to the creation of a big body of water that measures three miles wide and 13 miles long. Rend Lake is ours and we are proud of it. As we prepare for the golden anniversary of the dedication of this great reservoir, we acknowledge that it is one of the Seven Wonders of Illinois. Happy golden anniversary, Rend Lake. We need you, we want you and, most of all, we love you.
Joe Browning is the former publisher of the Benton Evening News, former Benton Township Supervisor and was Benton Chamber of Commerce’s Man of the Year in 1972. He resides in Mesa, AZ. [email protected]
The drought had reached from Ohio to Nevada and from Wyoming to Georgia with southern Illinois being hit the hardest. Lake Benton, a 68-acre fish bowl north of town, was our prime source of drinking water and it remained frightening low most of the time. Townspeople and especially the farm community were crying help.
Before long, the crisis caught the attention of Paul Douglas, the senior senator from Illinois who had become a national figure, Kenneth Gray a local star in the U.S. House of Representative, Bert Baker, a workhorse in the Illinois House, Wayne Fitzgerald, a true salesman who was in the Illinois Senate. Local, state and national leaders soon got on board. The powers-to-be realized that a safe and secure water supply was a necessity for the residents in Illinois’ Deep South.
It was in the 60s when that gaggle of powerbrokers took a walk into the briar brushes and chiggers near Rend City, IL and visualized what turned out to become an almost 19,000 acre mecca known nationwide as Rend Lake.
I was a student at Benton Consolidated High School in the 50s when Senator Douglas, a georgist economist, mapped out his plans for a water supply. I remember 1954 as probably the most severe year of the drought in Franklin County. All residents, especially those in the farm community, were struggling with the water shortage.
Fast forward through the 60s and into the 70s. I was an employee of WFRX Radio and vice president of the Benton Chamber of Commerce Board of Directors. The chamber president was Robert Taylor, a former Navy officer who exuded leadership and confidence. In 1972, Taylor asked me to form a subcommittee that would work directly with the businesses in Benton. The Benton Promotion Association (BPA) was the result of that request with its greatest contribution the creation of the Rend Lake Water Festival. Along with Taylor was Jim Knight, an energetic young businessman who owned his own furniture store. The three of us were summoned to a meeting with Larry Foster, manager of the Rend Lake Conservancy District. Foster’s organization had joined with the U.S. Corps of Engineers and the state of Illinois to create the lake. Foster said he needed our help with the formation of the dedication. Taylor told Foster that the chamber would help organize the dedication, but the chamber wanted a festival to be held in Benton. When we left the meeting, Taylor said, “Now we have a real festival.” That night the framework of the BPA was completed and the Rend Lake Water Festival was born. Knight agreed to become the Rend Lake Parade chairman and did such a good job it became perpetual. Every year the parade winds through the streets of Benton.
Other chamber members stepped forward and before long the framework of a festival was complete. Founding members included Howard Payne, president of the Bank of Benton; Stanley Hatchett, managers of Sherman’s Department Store; Doyle Goffinet, manager of P.N. Hirsch; Everett Collins, co-owner of Barton and Collins Furniture Company, Dave Webster, owner of Flowers by Dave and Dave Bauer, Chief Financial Officer for the Bank of Benton. And, there were others, in fact, before the initial festival was launched, almost every citizen in the Benton area got involved. Volunteerism was at its height in the 70s.
While we were creating a water festival, political leaders were moving toward a lake. Through the use of government earmarks, Rend Lake was becoming a reality. There have been a lot of negative press condemning earmarks, Congressional funding directives slipped into major pieces of legislation. Without earmarks, there would be no Rend Lake. Earmarks guaranteed funding and that in turn allowed the United States Army Corps of Engineers to begin work on the dam of the Big Muddy River. The Lake’s authorization was finalized in 1962 and it took another decade for the lake to create a shoreline stretching 162 miles with the average depth 10 feet and the maximum depth 35 feet.
It was 1972 when several townspeople joined local, state and national leaders at the dam site for a day of speeches and celebration. Senator Douglas could not make it due to an upset loss to Charles Percy in the 1966 election. Gray, Lt. Governor Paul Simon, Baker, Fitzgerald and others were in attendance. We knew it was a special time at a special place, but few of us could never have imagined the benefits and recreational opportunities this body of water would deliver. And deliver it has. Eventually Rend Lake brought an abundance of fresh, clean, pure water to the residents in 35 towns and water districts with over 200 miles of distribution lines in seven southern Illinois counties. Over seven million visitors compliment Rend Lake every year to enjoy over 800 campsites and five public camp grounds. Anglers from around the world drag record-size fish from its waters. Recreation on and around the lake is almost unlimited.
Rend Lake has proven that something very good can come out of a very bad situation. The severe drought of the 50s led to the creation of a big body of water that measures three miles wide and 13 miles long. Rend Lake is ours and we are proud of it. As we prepare for the golden anniversary of the dedication of this great reservoir, we acknowledge that it is one of the Seven Wonders of Illinois. Happy golden anniversary, Rend Lake. We need you, we want you and, most of all, we love you.
Joe Browning is the former publisher of the Benton Evening News, former Benton Township Supervisor and was Benton Chamber of Commerce’s Man of the Year in 1972. He resides in Mesa, AZ. [email protected]
MY MEMORIES OF DOUGLAS SCHOOL
I often find myself reminiscing about the past. It was such a simpler time. A big part of my childhood revolved around school, and not just any school, Douglas School. You almost have to be well into your 40’s before that name has any meaning whatsoever.
Our tale begins at Douglas. Back in the day, Benton had five grade schools; Douglas, Lincoln, Logan, Grant and Washington. All had their own individual characteristic and each had its own identity. Douglas kids were the “Tornados”. Grant got creative with the Grant green Gorillas. Lincoln had the Bluebirds. Logan and Washington . During those days there were two great accomplishments that a school could have. One was the city Wide championship in basketball, and the other was Marble King & Queen.
Douglas was a well-built three story building on what is now Casey’s, on Benton’s East side. There wasn’t anything special about the structure itself, but the memories it held, the stories it could tell and the boys and girls that passed through its hallowed halls, all would make a prize winning novel. But that’s only my opinion.
Every day for six years, the bus would stop at my house. I would load on with what seemed like a hundred other kids and head to school. If it were a good day, someone would sneak off down to Bracey’s (where Hucks stands) and buy a bag of candy for seventy five cents. We would all share in the bounty. A bad day consisted of us getting caught, maybe a swat or a call to our parents and we would most definitely lose the candy. And while we are at this point, yes, swats were given and we feared them. “Better behave or you’ll get the paddle” was our mantra.
I’ve always said that I wouldn’t go through high school again for all the money in the world, but I’m telling you know, I’d do Douglas again for free. That’s where I met some of my best friends. Some of those friends are still around Benton today. We talk from time to time about the basketball team, running track and even the “who’s going to be last picked at kick ball?” There was so much you could get away with that would absolutely not be tolerated in today’s society.
The fact that I was six going into Douglas School, there’s a lot that I wouldn’t remember. So, with that in mind I turned to a couple of old timers with better recollections; Mr. Gene Alexander (Mr. A) and Mr. Perry Eisenhauer. Both these great men had a heavy hand and a giant heart. They could be tough when they had to and generous when need be. I spoke to Mr. A about his days at Douglas.
-Gene “Mr A” Alexander-
“I remember a lot about that school. I was there from about 1969 to 1972. And I really liked the kids down there. They weren’t kids that might have had a lot of money, but if you did anything for them, you were a friend for life. One of my most vivid memories was Mr. Owens was not healthy enough to continue to coach the basketball team so I asked Mr. Eovaldi is I could help coach as a volunteer. I wouldn’t take any money for it. The first thing I did was to tell Mr. Eovaldi that I wanted to get some decent uniforms for these kids. Most were very poor and we didn’t have uniforms. We were able to work with a few people to get new uniforms and even got outfits for the cheerleaders and we finally looked like a ball team. One game that really stands out, we were getting ready to play Sesser and they had some really big boys on that team. I thought that there had to be at least one overaged kid in that bunch, so I went to the courthouse and pulled out records and sure enough, they were all the right age, just really big for grade school kids. Our kids were so pleased to have those uniforms that I took it upon myself to make sure that no one was going to take advantage of them.
Our practices were always outside. Even when we had a light snow, we’d go out to the court at recess and sweep off the snow so we could have a practice for our next big ballgame, whether it be against Lincoln or Logan or Washington or Grant.
We had a big hallway on the second floor there at Douglas and when we had ballgames or special events we’d have a pep rally or programs up in that hallway. We always had a really good time in there. When we did things like that for those kids, they would always show their appreciation. I believe I matured as a teacher during those days at Douglas School.
I had some really good people to work with back then; Elmer Owens and Marge Allen was there as well as the Warren sisters at that time, Joan Dickens who went on to become a very great teacher started out there.
-Perry Eisenhauer-
One thing that I believe that is different today from back then; family situations have deteriorated today. The sense of family honor has been lost. We’ve moved away from that honor. When I was growing up my parents would tell me not to do anything to embarrass the Alexander name or make the family look bad. A major change is electronics and technology. When I’m out making the playground maps, I try to get there early before the kids. I don’t see as many kids on bikes but more with their electronic devises. The kids just aren’t out and about like they used to be.
The last memory I wanted to mention, I had a student named Doug. I would come up into the classroom and he would be sitting on the window sill. I would drag him off and give him a swat and he’d just say he wasn’t doing anything; nothing bothered Doug. I tell him he’d fall off and get hurt and I’d feel so bad about it. Now-a-days, teachers wouldn’t even think about opening a window if they thought someone might sit on the sill. Safety awareness has changed a lot. Liability issues have become a greater concern.
Our tale begins at Douglas. Back in the day, Benton had five grade schools; Douglas, Lincoln, Logan, Grant and Washington. All had their own individual characteristic and each had its own identity. Douglas kids were the “Tornados”. Grant got creative with the Grant green Gorillas. Lincoln had the Bluebirds. Logan and Washington . During those days there were two great accomplishments that a school could have. One was the city Wide championship in basketball, and the other was Marble King & Queen.
Douglas was a well-built three story building on what is now Casey’s, on Benton’s East side. There wasn’t anything special about the structure itself, but the memories it held, the stories it could tell and the boys and girls that passed through its hallowed halls, all would make a prize winning novel. But that’s only my opinion.
Every day for six years, the bus would stop at my house. I would load on with what seemed like a hundred other kids and head to school. If it were a good day, someone would sneak off down to Bracey’s (where Hucks stands) and buy a bag of candy for seventy five cents. We would all share in the bounty. A bad day consisted of us getting caught, maybe a swat or a call to our parents and we would most definitely lose the candy. And while we are at this point, yes, swats were given and we feared them. “Better behave or you’ll get the paddle” was our mantra.
I’ve always said that I wouldn’t go through high school again for all the money in the world, but I’m telling you know, I’d do Douglas again for free. That’s where I met some of my best friends. Some of those friends are still around Benton today. We talk from time to time about the basketball team, running track and even the “who’s going to be last picked at kick ball?” There was so much you could get away with that would absolutely not be tolerated in today’s society.
The fact that I was six going into Douglas School, there’s a lot that I wouldn’t remember. So, with that in mind I turned to a couple of old timers with better recollections; Mr. Gene Alexander (Mr. A) and Mr. Perry Eisenhauer. Both these great men had a heavy hand and a giant heart. They could be tough when they had to and generous when need be. I spoke to Mr. A about his days at Douglas.
-Gene “Mr A” Alexander-
“I remember a lot about that school. I was there from about 1969 to 1972. And I really liked the kids down there. They weren’t kids that might have had a lot of money, but if you did anything for them, you were a friend for life. One of my most vivid memories was Mr. Owens was not healthy enough to continue to coach the basketball team so I asked Mr. Eovaldi is I could help coach as a volunteer. I wouldn’t take any money for it. The first thing I did was to tell Mr. Eovaldi that I wanted to get some decent uniforms for these kids. Most were very poor and we didn’t have uniforms. We were able to work with a few people to get new uniforms and even got outfits for the cheerleaders and we finally looked like a ball team. One game that really stands out, we were getting ready to play Sesser and they had some really big boys on that team. I thought that there had to be at least one overaged kid in that bunch, so I went to the courthouse and pulled out records and sure enough, they were all the right age, just really big for grade school kids. Our kids were so pleased to have those uniforms that I took it upon myself to make sure that no one was going to take advantage of them.
Our practices were always outside. Even when we had a light snow, we’d go out to the court at recess and sweep off the snow so we could have a practice for our next big ballgame, whether it be against Lincoln or Logan or Washington or Grant.
We had a big hallway on the second floor there at Douglas and when we had ballgames or special events we’d have a pep rally or programs up in that hallway. We always had a really good time in there. When we did things like that for those kids, they would always show their appreciation. I believe I matured as a teacher during those days at Douglas School.
I had some really good people to work with back then; Elmer Owens and Marge Allen was there as well as the Warren sisters at that time, Joan Dickens who went on to become a very great teacher started out there.
-Perry Eisenhauer-
One thing that I believe that is different today from back then; family situations have deteriorated today. The sense of family honor has been lost. We’ve moved away from that honor. When I was growing up my parents would tell me not to do anything to embarrass the Alexander name or make the family look bad. A major change is electronics and technology. When I’m out making the playground maps, I try to get there early before the kids. I don’t see as many kids on bikes but more with their electronic devises. The kids just aren’t out and about like they used to be.
The last memory I wanted to mention, I had a student named Doug. I would come up into the classroom and he would be sitting on the window sill. I would drag him off and give him a swat and he’d just say he wasn’t doing anything; nothing bothered Doug. I tell him he’d fall off and get hurt and I’d feel so bad about it. Now-a-days, teachers wouldn’t even think about opening a window if they thought someone might sit on the sill. Safety awareness has changed a lot. Liability issues have become a greater concern.
IT WOULD TAKE MORE THAN AN APPLE A DAY
More than 250 years ago Benjamin Franklin coined the phrase, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Franklin had no clue that an apple contains fiber, minerals and vitamins all exceedingly healthy for the body. Franklin must have had an idea that an apple had a special medicinal value when he wrote that line in Poor Richard’s Almanac.
I wonder what Franklin would think about the value of healthcare in the country he helped found? He would find unaffordable healthcare costs strapping most Americans to a life of pain and suffering. The World Health Organization studied the healthcare in 190 countries and listed the United States at 34th on the ranking chart. France and Italy are one and two, Japan is 10th, and United Kingdom is 18th and Switzerland in 20th. Ahead of the good ole USA is Singapore, Chili and Costa Rica.
The heroic struggle in America among health care providers to prevent disease and to cure those they find is second to none. The heroes in the medical field are dedicated professionals who accomplish miracles every day. But, there are those health care providers who see their priority reflected in the bottom line. The cost of healthcare in America is almost obscene. The pharmaceutical companies are knocking down record profits and U.S. doctors are some of the highest paid professionals in the world. New technologies are being produced every day. And yet there are 60 million uninsured Americans struggling with medical problems every day.
The U.S. Supreme Court is studying the constitutionality of the recent healthcare law. The law makes health insurance both a right and a responsibility for most Americans. It provides coverage to more than 90 percent of the population, subsidizing private insurance for millions. But it also requires nearly everyone to carry health insurance, either through an employer or a government program, or by buying an individual policy.
During the past eight years, insurance premiums have doubled, medical bills are drowning families in debt and half of all personal bankruptcies are caused by medical costs, according to the Organization for Health Care for All.
Hospital emergency room visits is increasing 10 percent every year while the number of emergency rooms is dropping by 7 percent. Millions of sick people who have no medical coverage and cannot afford care are pouring into the emergency rooms, which by law cannot turn them away. Is that not a federal mandate?
I wonder what Franklin would think about the value of healthcare in the country he helped found? He would find unaffordable healthcare costs strapping most Americans to a life of pain and suffering. The World Health Organization studied the healthcare in 190 countries and listed the United States at 34th on the ranking chart. France and Italy are one and two, Japan is 10th, and United Kingdom is 18th and Switzerland in 20th. Ahead of the good ole USA is Singapore, Chili and Costa Rica.
The heroic struggle in America among health care providers to prevent disease and to cure those they find is second to none. The heroes in the medical field are dedicated professionals who accomplish miracles every day. But, there are those health care providers who see their priority reflected in the bottom line. The cost of healthcare in America is almost obscene. The pharmaceutical companies are knocking down record profits and U.S. doctors are some of the highest paid professionals in the world. New technologies are being produced every day. And yet there are 60 million uninsured Americans struggling with medical problems every day.
The U.S. Supreme Court is studying the constitutionality of the recent healthcare law. The law makes health insurance both a right and a responsibility for most Americans. It provides coverage to more than 90 percent of the population, subsidizing private insurance for millions. But it also requires nearly everyone to carry health insurance, either through an employer or a government program, or by buying an individual policy.
During the past eight years, insurance premiums have doubled, medical bills are drowning families in debt and half of all personal bankruptcies are caused by medical costs, according to the Organization for Health Care for All.
Hospital emergency room visits is increasing 10 percent every year while the number of emergency rooms is dropping by 7 percent. Millions of sick people who have no medical coverage and cannot afford care are pouring into the emergency rooms, which by law cannot turn them away. Is that not a federal mandate?
GUESS OR SECOND GUESS?
Ever second guess one of your decisions? You are not alone. The history books are fuilled with people who felt strongly about something only to learn later they were wrong. I often think about the young man who held out for a little more money and lost his co-hosting job to Ryan Seacrest on American Idol. And, Pete Best who was on the verge of fame and fortune only to watch it evaporate.
There are winners in the decision-making contest. Spencer Silver was trying to find a unique adhesive while working for 3-M Corporation. “If I had thought about it, I wouldn’t have done the experiment,” Silver said later. “The literature was full of examples that said you can’t do this!” What he did was to develop a unique adhesive for Post-It notepads. The rest is history.
Wonder what happened to the Decca record executive who turned down a singing group in 1962 claiming, “We don’t like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out!” The Beatles certainly proved him wrong. Gary Cooper decided to turn down the offer to star in the leading role in “Gone with the Wind” in 1939 and said, “I’m just glad it will be Clark Gable who’s falling on his face not Gary Cooper!” Or the Yale University management professor who told Fred Smith, “The concept is interesting and well-formed, but to earn better than a ‘C’ on your project the idea must be feasible.” Fortunately Smith ignored his instructor and developed his overnight delivery service calling it Federal Express.
How about the college kids who contacted the electronics company, Atari and said, “Hey, we’ve got this amazing thing, even built with some of your parts, and what do you think about funding us? Or we’ll give it to you. We just want to do it. Pay our salary and we’ll come work for you.”
Guess what the executives of Atari said? No! So they went to the executives at Hewlett-Packard who told them, “We don’t need you. You haven’t completed college yet!” So Steve Jobs formed Apple Computers to develop his and Steve Wozniak personal computer.
Someone once noted that ‘A’ students research, ‘B’ students teach and the lower end of the class go out into the world and performs the improbably. That may have been the situation in 1872 when Pierre Pachet, Professor of Physiology at Toulouse noted that, “Louis Pasteur’s theory of germs is ridiculous fiction.” Sometimes the professor is right and others are wrong. The New York Times ran an editorial in 1921 that read, “Professor Goddard does not know the relation between action and reaction and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react. He seems to lack the basic knowledge ladled out daily in high schools.” Robert Goddard is well known for his revolutionary rocket work.
Other great statements: “Drill for oil? You mean drill into the ground to try to find oil? You’re crazy.” The statement was meant to demean the work of Edwin L. Drake who continued on and hit oil in 1859. “Stocks have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau,” said Irving Fisher, Yale Professor of Economics in 1929. He was about as wrong as Marechal Ferdinand Foch, Professor of Strategy who proclaimed, “Airplanes are interesting toys but of no military value.”
Where would we be if we listened to certain men? Sir John Eric Ericksen, British surgeon who said in 1873, “The abdomen, the chest, and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon.” A few years later H.M. Warner, founder of Warner Brother’s motion picture Company proclaimed, “Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?” The year was 1927, the end of the silent movie era.
Even the rich and smart sometimes miss the mark. An IBM executive reported to his cohorts, “$100 million dollars is way too much to pay for Microsoft.” The company is worth in excess of $260 billion dollars.
What about Bill Gates who said, “640K ought to be enough for anybody.” Way off the mark! This document requires more computer space than that. Or the concert manager who told Elvis Presley to, “Go back to your truck driving!”
Remember the names, Brian Dunkleman or Pete Best? Don’t feel bad if you do not remember these two men who had a shot at greatness and, for some reason missed the mark. Dunkleman was the co-host of the first season of American Idol. Some say he held out for more money only to see Ryan Seacrest carry the load alone. Seacrest just signed a $45 million dollar contract with the show.
Pete Best was a British musician who was the original drummer with the Beatles. After spending 2½ years as the groups drummer he was dismissed by Brian Epstein, the groups manager. He told Best that Paul McCartney, John Lennon and George Harrison wanted him out. He was replaced by Ringo Starr. In later documentaries, the underlying reason for Best’s dismissal was caused by his aloofness. He did not hang out with the other three and really had very little in common. Best had been a good student and the other three were drop-outs.
There are winners in the decision-making contest. Spencer Silver was trying to find a unique adhesive while working for 3-M Corporation. “If I had thought about it, I wouldn’t have done the experiment,” Silver said later. “The literature was full of examples that said you can’t do this!” What he did was to develop a unique adhesive for Post-It notepads. The rest is history.
Wonder what happened to the Decca record executive who turned down a singing group in 1962 claiming, “We don’t like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out!” The Beatles certainly proved him wrong. Gary Cooper decided to turn down the offer to star in the leading role in “Gone with the Wind” in 1939 and said, “I’m just glad it will be Clark Gable who’s falling on his face not Gary Cooper!” Or the Yale University management professor who told Fred Smith, “The concept is interesting and well-formed, but to earn better than a ‘C’ on your project the idea must be feasible.” Fortunately Smith ignored his instructor and developed his overnight delivery service calling it Federal Express.
How about the college kids who contacted the electronics company, Atari and said, “Hey, we’ve got this amazing thing, even built with some of your parts, and what do you think about funding us? Or we’ll give it to you. We just want to do it. Pay our salary and we’ll come work for you.”
Guess what the executives of Atari said? No! So they went to the executives at Hewlett-Packard who told them, “We don’t need you. You haven’t completed college yet!” So Steve Jobs formed Apple Computers to develop his and Steve Wozniak personal computer.
Someone once noted that ‘A’ students research, ‘B’ students teach and the lower end of the class go out into the world and performs the improbably. That may have been the situation in 1872 when Pierre Pachet, Professor of Physiology at Toulouse noted that, “Louis Pasteur’s theory of germs is ridiculous fiction.” Sometimes the professor is right and others are wrong. The New York Times ran an editorial in 1921 that read, “Professor Goddard does not know the relation between action and reaction and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react. He seems to lack the basic knowledge ladled out daily in high schools.” Robert Goddard is well known for his revolutionary rocket work.
Other great statements: “Drill for oil? You mean drill into the ground to try to find oil? You’re crazy.” The statement was meant to demean the work of Edwin L. Drake who continued on and hit oil in 1859. “Stocks have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau,” said Irving Fisher, Yale Professor of Economics in 1929. He was about as wrong as Marechal Ferdinand Foch, Professor of Strategy who proclaimed, “Airplanes are interesting toys but of no military value.”
Where would we be if we listened to certain men? Sir John Eric Ericksen, British surgeon who said in 1873, “The abdomen, the chest, and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon.” A few years later H.M. Warner, founder of Warner Brother’s motion picture Company proclaimed, “Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?” The year was 1927, the end of the silent movie era.
Even the rich and smart sometimes miss the mark. An IBM executive reported to his cohorts, “$100 million dollars is way too much to pay for Microsoft.” The company is worth in excess of $260 billion dollars.
What about Bill Gates who said, “640K ought to be enough for anybody.” Way off the mark! This document requires more computer space than that. Or the concert manager who told Elvis Presley to, “Go back to your truck driving!”
Remember the names, Brian Dunkleman or Pete Best? Don’t feel bad if you do not remember these two men who had a shot at greatness and, for some reason missed the mark. Dunkleman was the co-host of the first season of American Idol. Some say he held out for more money only to see Ryan Seacrest carry the load alone. Seacrest just signed a $45 million dollar contract with the show.
Pete Best was a British musician who was the original drummer with the Beatles. After spending 2½ years as the groups drummer he was dismissed by Brian Epstein, the groups manager. He told Best that Paul McCartney, John Lennon and George Harrison wanted him out. He was replaced by Ringo Starr. In later documentaries, the underlying reason for Best’s dismissal was caused by his aloofness. He did not hang out with the other three and really had very little in common. Best had been a good student and the other three were drop-outs.
You’re Libel To Find a Yunkus Fan Most Anywhere!
Some years ago, I had a brief stopover at the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta, Georgia. To pass the time, I sundered into an airport bar and struck-up a conversation with a stranger who was sitting alone. He said his name was, “Burdell, George P.” He was full of talk and began telling me about his exciting and rather notorious years in college at Georgia Tech, his war-duties in the U.S. Army, fighting in the trenches of WW II, and his marriage to his lovely college sweetheart, a Yellow Jackets cheerleader. He said he was now employed as the Production Manager of South Park Central.
He was all talk about himself until I mentioned my hometown of Benton, Ill. and, like a cheap pinball machine, he lit-up all over. “That’s Rich Yunkus’ home town,” he hollered. “What do you know about our local Yellow Jackets hero?” he asked.
I settled back on my bar stool because I knew we would be there for quite a while. I guided the conversation to the early 60s and positioned our minds in the old Benton High School Gymnasium where Yunkus had played four years of incredible prep basketball. I told Burdell that his hero was not born a natural athlete. “I watched him stumble around in the junior high gym like a gangling goose, until he decided that basketball, not baseball, would be his sport. He took command of his 6’1” 110-pound body and commit it to his backyard basketball goal. It was during that time that Richard Anthony Yunkus determined himself to be the best he could possibly be.”
I told Burdell that I was the play-by-play announcer at a small southern Illinois radio station and I had the privilege of describing every one of his Yunkus’ games. “Wow!” he said. “That must have been awesome.” I told him that WFRX was the only station carrying Ranger sports and, in the 60s, Benton was the only team to follow. “I made sure I arrived at the gymnasium a full hour before air-time because the line of fans outside were always pressing to fill every available inch in the gym. The early 60s was our Super Bowl, the Academy Awards and NFL all wrapped-up in a high school sport. When the Rangers continued playing undefeated basketball the excitement only grew. To be a witness to Ranger madness during two undefeated regular season could only be described as a gift from the Almighty Himself.”
The Atlanta native leaned forward as I continue. “After I set-up my equipment, I hurried to find Coach Rich Herrin to record my pregame interview. Every time I went back stage, at the old gym, I saw Yunkus sitting in a chair with his legs in a five-gallon bucket of ice water. He was going through his pregame warm-up by icing his long legs for what was about to come.” I asked Burdell if he could imagine that kind of commitment in today’s world. “Here was a teenager subjecting himself to the pain and agony of ice water for the better part of an hour before and after every game. That’s when I knew, Yunkus was a different kind of athlete.”
I told Burdell that I was not going to recite Yunkus’ Benton High School statistics because I suspected he already knew them. He proved me right by reeling off all the shooting, scoring and rebounding accomplishments during Benton’s 61-2 record over two years. He even knew that Yunkus’ number is only one of two that have been retired in Benton’s long sports history. Doug Collins’ jersey was the other.
I told Burdell that he should have been in Benton during the early 60s. “If you would have been here, you would have surely stood in line outside the little Benton gym or hunkered over your radio to get your dose of Ranger magic. And, it was a magic. Because of Yunkus and his teammates, Benton fans had the Christmas feeling… all year long. Big teams like Carbondale, Centralia, Mt Vernon and even Thornton of Harvey fell victim to the small-town team from the south. It was the era of a single class for all prep teams in the state. Yunkus, with the help of outstanding teammates, marched all the way to the state tournament in Champaign, and was all aglow until Dale Kelley, Galesburg’s point guard, flung a last second desperation shot into the air … and the rest is history. That basket spelled the end of the season for probably the best basketball team in Benton’s history. The next year, Early ‘Peaches’ Laster dunked the basketball, up to his elbow, and sparked Carbondale to an upset Super Sectional victory over Benton. Twice, Benton was denied a chance to try in the big house in Champaign. It was Thomas Edison who said, “We tried and tried, but we had 10,000 things that did not work.” Oh, but what if just one thing would have worked?
Burdell also knew that even though Yunkus had broken a lot of records on the basketball court, his biggest accomplishment was capturing the heart of Sesser, Ill. native, Donna Atchison. The couple married forty-years ago and have reared two gorgeous daughters, Lindsay and Alicia. The couple continue to enjoy life with their daughters and their grandchildren.
The announcement that my plane to St. Louis was boarding interrupted our conversation, so I bade Burdell a fond adieu. As we walked to the gates, he turned and said, “Since your radio station was located in deep southern Illinois, from now on I’ll refer to you fondly as, “The Mouth of the South.”
Joe R. Browning is retired and living in Mesa, AZ. He is the former publisher of the Benton Evening News, the Voice of the Benton Rangers, Former Township Supervisor, Former Little League Coach, and a really amazing grandfather.
He can be reached at [email protected].
He was all talk about himself until I mentioned my hometown of Benton, Ill. and, like a cheap pinball machine, he lit-up all over. “That’s Rich Yunkus’ home town,” he hollered. “What do you know about our local Yellow Jackets hero?” he asked.
I settled back on my bar stool because I knew we would be there for quite a while. I guided the conversation to the early 60s and positioned our minds in the old Benton High School Gymnasium where Yunkus had played four years of incredible prep basketball. I told Burdell that his hero was not born a natural athlete. “I watched him stumble around in the junior high gym like a gangling goose, until he decided that basketball, not baseball, would be his sport. He took command of his 6’1” 110-pound body and commit it to his backyard basketball goal. It was during that time that Richard Anthony Yunkus determined himself to be the best he could possibly be.”
I told Burdell that I was the play-by-play announcer at a small southern Illinois radio station and I had the privilege of describing every one of his Yunkus’ games. “Wow!” he said. “That must have been awesome.” I told him that WFRX was the only station carrying Ranger sports and, in the 60s, Benton was the only team to follow. “I made sure I arrived at the gymnasium a full hour before air-time because the line of fans outside were always pressing to fill every available inch in the gym. The early 60s was our Super Bowl, the Academy Awards and NFL all wrapped-up in a high school sport. When the Rangers continued playing undefeated basketball the excitement only grew. To be a witness to Ranger madness during two undefeated regular season could only be described as a gift from the Almighty Himself.”
The Atlanta native leaned forward as I continue. “After I set-up my equipment, I hurried to find Coach Rich Herrin to record my pregame interview. Every time I went back stage, at the old gym, I saw Yunkus sitting in a chair with his legs in a five-gallon bucket of ice water. He was going through his pregame warm-up by icing his long legs for what was about to come.” I asked Burdell if he could imagine that kind of commitment in today’s world. “Here was a teenager subjecting himself to the pain and agony of ice water for the better part of an hour before and after every game. That’s when I knew, Yunkus was a different kind of athlete.”
I told Burdell that I was not going to recite Yunkus’ Benton High School statistics because I suspected he already knew them. He proved me right by reeling off all the shooting, scoring and rebounding accomplishments during Benton’s 61-2 record over two years. He even knew that Yunkus’ number is only one of two that have been retired in Benton’s long sports history. Doug Collins’ jersey was the other.
I told Burdell that he should have been in Benton during the early 60s. “If you would have been here, you would have surely stood in line outside the little Benton gym or hunkered over your radio to get your dose of Ranger magic. And, it was a magic. Because of Yunkus and his teammates, Benton fans had the Christmas feeling… all year long. Big teams like Carbondale, Centralia, Mt Vernon and even Thornton of Harvey fell victim to the small-town team from the south. It was the era of a single class for all prep teams in the state. Yunkus, with the help of outstanding teammates, marched all the way to the state tournament in Champaign, and was all aglow until Dale Kelley, Galesburg’s point guard, flung a last second desperation shot into the air … and the rest is history. That basket spelled the end of the season for probably the best basketball team in Benton’s history. The next year, Early ‘Peaches’ Laster dunked the basketball, up to his elbow, and sparked Carbondale to an upset Super Sectional victory over Benton. Twice, Benton was denied a chance to try in the big house in Champaign. It was Thomas Edison who said, “We tried and tried, but we had 10,000 things that did not work.” Oh, but what if just one thing would have worked?
Burdell also knew that even though Yunkus had broken a lot of records on the basketball court, his biggest accomplishment was capturing the heart of Sesser, Ill. native, Donna Atchison. The couple married forty-years ago and have reared two gorgeous daughters, Lindsay and Alicia. The couple continue to enjoy life with their daughters and their grandchildren.
The announcement that my plane to St. Louis was boarding interrupted our conversation, so I bade Burdell a fond adieu. As we walked to the gates, he turned and said, “Since your radio station was located in deep southern Illinois, from now on I’ll refer to you fondly as, “The Mouth of the South.”
Joe R. Browning is retired and living in Mesa, AZ. He is the former publisher of the Benton Evening News, the Voice of the Benton Rangers, Former Township Supervisor, Former Little League Coach, and a really amazing grandfather.
He can be reached at [email protected].
An Epidemic of Panic Attacks
Psychologists around the country are reporting a rash of late teen anxiety disorders especially in young women. Panic attacks are very brief but extremely intense surges of anxiety. The major differences between a panic attack and more generalized anxiety symptoms are differences in the onset, duration, and intensity.
Panic attacks often come out of the blue. They are not necessarily provoked by stress. They come on suddenly, are extremely intense and last anywhere from one to thirty minutes and then subside. The patient feels as if he or she will actually die or go crazy, as we are not talking about uneasiness but full-blown panic.
The person may continue to feel nervous or upset for several hours, but the attack itself lasts only a matter of minutes. If a patient says that they have a continuous panic attack for the past three days then he or she may be having intense anxiety symptoms, but not a true panic attack. In anxiety disorders without panic attacks the anxiety symptoms can be very unpleasant, but are much less intense; they also can be prolonged or generalized. They may be present most of the day and lasting from days to years. The distinction between anxiety and panic is very important when it comes to making an accurate diagnosis and choosing appropriate treatments. The symptoms of anxiety are:
Panic attacks often come out of the blue. They are not necessarily provoked by stress. They come on suddenly, are extremely intense and last anywhere from one to thirty minutes and then subside. The patient feels as if he or she will actually die or go crazy, as we are not talking about uneasiness but full-blown panic.
The person may continue to feel nervous or upset for several hours, but the attack itself lasts only a matter of minutes. If a patient says that they have a continuous panic attack for the past three days then he or she may be having intense anxiety symptoms, but not a true panic attack. In anxiety disorders without panic attacks the anxiety symptoms can be very unpleasant, but are much less intense; they also can be prolonged or generalized. They may be present most of the day and lasting from days to years. The distinction between anxiety and panic is very important when it comes to making an accurate diagnosis and choosing appropriate treatments. The symptoms of anxiety are:
- Trembling, feeling shaky, restlessness, muscle tension
- Shortness of breath, smothering sensation
- Tachycardia or rapid heartbeat
- Sweating and cold hands and feet
- Lightheadedness and dizziness
- Parenthesis or tingling of the skin
- Diarrhea, frequent urination, or both
- Feeling of unreality
- Initial insomnia
- Impaired attention and concentration
- Nervousness, edginess or tension