Gary "The Glove" Payton and me

I first met basketball Hall-of-Famer Gary Payton in the spring of 1988 when I was an eighth-grade English and U.S. history teacher at Highland View Middle School in Corvallis, OR. At the time, Payton was a sophomore hoopster at Oregon State University (OSU). I had arranged with OSU Athletics' academic compliance officer, Michael Beachley, to have Payton and an OSU football player talk to my classes about "The Language of Sports," one of a series of such talks I had implemented to help pique my students' interest in language and its connections to a variety of vocations and avocations.

Gary Payton

True confession: At the time, I had no idea who Payton was, other than that he was rumored to be a pretty good basketball player. My students, on the other hand, knew exactly who he was—and rather quickly made that fact clear to me. Before Beachley had a chance to introduce us, my students, along with several students from neighboring classrooms, swarmed Payton, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, and asking for his autograph. Payton graciously engaged with them and complied with their requests, using a borrowed permanent marker to sign his name on T-shirts, sneakers, and Pee-Chees. 

After the tardy bell rang and students scrambled back to their classrooms, Beachley finally had a chance to introduce Payton and me. Weirdly, as Payton stuck out his hand, he turned his face the other way, avoiding eye contact. His handshake was equally unimpressive—flaccid, like a dead fish. I couldn't discern whether his body language was a product of shyness, indifference, contempt, or simply a lack of socialization. Not that it really mattered, in the grand scheme, but in the petite moment I was just a bit put off.

Back in the classroom, my students were still abuzz from the excitement and it took me a minute to get them to settle down. They were, however, in their seats, all eyes forward, more attentive and receptive than I had seen them all year. Hmmm...maybe inviting semi-famous guest speakers was a good thing? 

After everyone finally stopped buzzing, I introduced Mr. Payton and told the class that he was there to talk about the language of sports. But of course it wouldn't have mattered if Payton was there to talk about the threat of the tussock moth; my students were enthralled, ready to hang ten on any and every word that emerged from Payton's lips. Naturally, I had provided my students with something to do besides sit and listen; they were to answer, in writing, three questions about the language of sports on a worksheet I had provided them.

Unfortunately, what emerged from Payton's lips was about what one would expect from a teenager who had grown up in the rough part of Oakland, CA, and knew a lot more about sports than he did about language: a lot of "ums" and "uhs," "y'knows," "I dunnos," and just general mumbling and fumbling. 

In other words, his speech was pretty much an example of…how not to speak.

So much for the "language" part.

But all was far from lost. My students were absolutely charmed by this totally real person, just a few years older than they were, who was a bonafide basketball phenomenon but an English language rookie. And my students seemed to understand that, despite his language challenges, Gary Payton was in college, trying to get an education, because he understood on some level that basketball might not be enough for him—or that it ultimately might not work out for him, due to injuries perhaps. In fact, the only lucid comment I remember Payton uttering during his "speech" was "Stay in school. Get an education." And my students were actually listening when he said it—because of who was saying it.

So, definitely a win.

Speaking of wins, Payton went on to achieve the following (a partial list):

• Consensus All-American, a three-time All-Pac-10 selection, and both the Pac-10 Defensive Player of the Year and conference Freshman of the Year in 1987.
• Featured in the cover story of Sports Illustrated on March 5, 1989, as the nation's best college basketball player 
• MVP of the Far West Classic tournament three times, the Pac-10 Player of the Week nine times, and named to the Pac-10's All-Decade Team
• At the time of his graduation, Payton held the school record for points, field goals, three-point field goals, assists, and steals—all of which he still holds today except for career points and three-point field goals
• During his career at OSU, the Beavers made three NCAA tournament appearances and one NIT appearance
• Second overall pick in the 1990 NBA draft by the Seattle SuperSonics
• Made the All-NBA First-Team in 1998 and 2000; All-NBA Second Team in 1995, 1996, 1997, 1999, and 2002; and All-NBA Third Team in 1994 and 2001
• Selected to the NBA All-Defensive First Team a record nine consecutive seasons (1994–2002), and won the NBA Defensive Player of the Year Award in 1996, the first point guard to win the aw
• Selected to the NBA All-Star Team nine times
• Member of the gold medal-winning 1996 and 2000 U.S. Men's Olympic Basketball Teams
• In 1996, Payton and the SuperSonics reached the NBA Finals after winning a franchise record 64 games—and lost in six games to Michael Jordan's Chicago Bulls
• Elected into OSU's Sports Hall of Fame in 1996
• Nicknamed "The Glove" in reference to his defensive skills
• Set up The Gary Payton Foundation in 1996 to provide safe places for recreational activity, and to help underprivileged youth in his hometown of Oakland…stay in school

I had the privilege of getting to see just how good Payton was one night in February 1990, when my housemate and I attended an OSU vs. USC basketball game. Payton scored 58 points in that game, mostly by juke-jiving through heavy traffic directly to the hoop. OSU won the game in overtime, 98-94.

Payton was, needless to say, incredible. And I was, needless to say, honored and proud that I not only "knew him when" but had invited him to give one of the most memorable speeches ever, to a classroom full of the most riveted eighth-grade students ever. 

Most of whom, I'm happy to say, stayed in school.

After I posted this story on my Facebook page, Larry Bafia, a former employee of Will Vinton Studios (with whom I also used to work) commented that he had directed this video featuring a clay-animated Gary Payton: 

Troubleshooting

 I posted this true story on Facebook on May 25, 2020.

Sometimes I can be such a mow-ron. Yesterday when I was about halfway through mowing the lawn, the mower died and wouldn't start again, no matter how much I cursed while pulling the cord. So I tried filling the tank all the way up with gas. No go. So I dug out the manual and checked the "Troubleshooting" section. "Go to BriggsAndStratton.con, or call 1-888-GET-LOST," it said, helpfully. So then I checked the warranty info: the engine had a two-year warranty, starting the day I purchased the mower. Which was May 23, 2018. Two years and one day ago. So then I tried cursing at the mower some more. Still no go. And then I noticed a little black plastic box attached with clips to the side of the engine. I popped it off, and inside was...the dirtiest air filter one could never hope to see. I took it out, vacuumed it with my portable Shop Vac, put it back in, pulled the cord, and...voila.

Happy Memowrial Day.

The Crocodile Hunter's wife & kids and me

 "Crikey!" —Steve Irwin, aka the Crocodile Hunter

Australian zookeeper, conservationist, television personality, wildlife educator, and environmentalist Steve Irwin obviously did a lot more than just "hunt" crocodiles, but that was what he was most famous for. I personally watched several TV shows, and at least one movie, that featured Irwin's exploits with crocodiles and other animals, and I have to admit, he was incredibly engaging and entertaining. I wish I could say that I had met him in person, but I never did. And it's only because of an agonizingly unfortunate accident that I ever had the pleasure of meeting his lovely family.

In 2006, while Irwin was filming a documentary in Australia's Great Barrier Reef, a stingray flipped its barbed tail at his chest, piercing all the way through his ribcage to his heart.

Steve Irwin was 44 when he passed, leaving behind his wife Terri, eight-year-old daughter Bindi, and two-year-old son Robert.

Steve Irwin

It was just over two years later that I had an opportunity to meet Irwin's widow and kids. They had scheduled a press conference at my workplace, Oregon State University (OSU), to announce a Memorandum of Understanding to donate $1 million to OSU's Marine Mammal Institute (MMI) for humpback whale research.

What did Terri Irwin care about OSU or the MMI, which were about as far away as one can get from Australia and the Australia Zoo? And why humpback whales, which are a far cry from crocodiles?

As I soon learned, Terri Irwin was not a native of Australia but rather of Eugene, Oregon—which was also my home state. Piling one coincidence on top of another, Ms. Irwin and I had a mutual friend: world-renowned whale researcher and MMI Director Bruce Mate. I believe Ms. Irwin mentioned in the preface to her prepared remarks that Bruce was a family friend; I knew him primarily through my job as managing editor for Oregon Sea Grant, where I had edited and laid out his brochure about gray whales, but also through several freelance editing/design projects I had done for him, including an educational curriculum called The Great Whales.

Mate also happened to be a PR aficionado, and he wanted as many people as possible to show up for the event. So he had emailed me a plus-one invitation, and my wife Jules and I both attended the press conference.

We arrived early enough to grab front-row seats, and before long the room was completely filled with OSU officials and members of the local press. I had an aisle seat, and Jules was seated to my right. We were both within a few feet of the Irwin kids, Bindi and Robert, who were seated directly in front of us, facing the audience. Bindi looked alert and engaged; Robert, on the other hand, looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. But he was only five then, and he likely didn't remember his dad very well, let alone understand what all this hoopla was about.

Shortly, Bruce came down the aisle from behind us, accompanied by Terri Irwin, walking toward the lectern. As I turned to look at them, Ms. Irwin spontaneously touched my shoulder and gazed directly into my eyes, as if she recognized me as an old friend or something. And in that time-stalling moment, I might've believed we were old friends. She exuded an uncommon, almost unnerving warmth, and I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Bindi, Robert, and Terri Irwin

While I was ruminating about what had just transpired between this rather attractive stranger and myself, Jules had been busy making friends with Bindi and Robert, who were seated literally close enough for us to touch—or to secure an autograph, as Jules did with Bindi. Why an autograph? It turns out that 10-year-old Bindi Irwin was the host of her own Discovery Kids documentary series, Bindi the Jungle Girl. Which I suppose makes perfect sense, since she was not only Steve Irwin's offspring but also one of the brightest, most precocious, most gregarious young ladies I had ever met. Robert, on the other hand, was Bindi's polar opposite: quiet, shy, reserved, almost wordless. But both kids were absolutely charming in their own way, and for us, at least, they were the highlight of the press conference.

It occurs to me now that perhaps Ms. Irwin, the kids' mom, was actually checking me out, trying to determine if I was OK since I was so close to her kids. It's as if she was trying to say to me, via her touch and direct eye contact, "I see that you're sitting very close to the two beings in this world who are most precious to me, most dear to my heart, especially now that their dad is gone. Hurt them, and you die." So, yeah…mama bear.

Here's some of what Mama Bear Irwin had to say during her speech:

"I am so proud to be developing a partnership with OSU for important research to conserve whales. Steve was very passionate about whales. They are extraordinary creatures, and it is so important that we do everything we can to save them. Learning about whales is part of a bigger picture. Our oceans are in jeopardy and the more research we gather about whales, the more knowledge we have to help us save, protect and preserve our delicate oceans.

"The Steve Irwin Whale Research Fund is a legacy of Steve's love of whales—and stands as a reminder that one man CAN make a difference. I want it to be known all over the world that these projects prove that it is possible to gather biological research about whales without harming them. It is unacceptable that whale research is still an excuse used to cull whales."

And here's some of what Bruce Mate had to say:

"Television viewers may not be aware that Terri's involvement in conservation efforts goes far beyond Australia, literally spanning the world. She's helping with conservation projects spanning from saving elephants in Southeast Asia and humpback whales in the Pacific Ocean to koalas and Tasmanian devils throughout Australia. 

"This is a little-studied population of humpback whales. Some of the groups of whales in this region are small and not recovering as well as populations in other areas, so it is important to better understand their movements."

According to OSU's press release on the jointly signed Memorandum of Understanding, "The goal of the project is to tag the humpbacks and determine how much they intermingle in the feeding area, and track the timing, route and rate of speed for their migrations back to their respective breeding areas. This study is the first of several planned tagging projects to link the reproductive areas of humpbacks to their feeding areas."

Want to know more about OSU's Marine Mammal Institute and its research? Visit https://mmi.oregonstate.edu/

Oh, and...Crikey!

Courtney Love's mother and me

Back in about 2008 I was feeling pretty bummed out by the recession, which had resulted in the termination of several of Cooper Publishing's* freelance editing/design contracts. My wife and I had come to rely on these contracts to help pay the bills, which were fairly significant at the time in part because we had two kids who each needed two successive sets of braces. Yikes. 

So I decided to see if a counselor might be able to help lift me out of my funk—and figure out a way forward. My employer at the time, Oregon State University, offered three free therapy sessions through its Employee Assistance Program (EAP), the hitch being that you had to pick from among the few therapists who qualified for coverage within the program.

So I did a bit of research on the covered therapists, accompanied by a quick spin of the roulette wheel, and ended up selecting one named Linda Carroll. Prior to my first visit with her, I did a little more research (ain't Google wonderful?) and discovered that Ms. Carroll happened to be…Courtney Love's mother.

Linda Carroll

Courtney Love (2014)

Yep, that Courtney Love. Kurt Cobain's widow. Lead vocalist of the rock band band Hole. Golden Globe-nominated star of The People vs. Larry Flynt.

What the hell was Courtney Love's mother doing working as a therapist in podunk Corvallis, Oregon? And what the hell was I thinking, scheduling a therapy session with her? And why was I asking myself such questions, unless I was feeling weird or sheepish or creepy for going to a therapist whose daughter was…so…famous?

Ultimately I decided that the answers to these questions were irrelevant, because I sincerely did need some help, and I thought that maybe the mother of such a, um, famous person might at least be interesting to talk to, if nothing else.

As it turns out, I was right. Among the interesting things I learned during my three sessions with Ms. Carroll were that

• she was estranged from her daughter—or vice versa, as Ms. Carroll told me the estrangement was unilateral on Ms. Love's part
• she once dropped LSD with Jerry Garcia, with four-year-old Courtney in the room (hmmm…)
• one of her former patients was the infamous fugitive Katherine Ann Power
• she had published a memoir titled Her Mother's Daughter: A Memoir of the Mother I Never Knew and of My Daughter, Courtney Love about her birth mother, novelist Paula Fox (who had given Linda up for adoption at birth), and, um, her daughter

Whether Ms. Carroll learned anything from me is a matter of speculation, but I suspect the main thing she gleaned was that, as a victim of the recession, I was an unlikely candidate for the weeklong couples therapy retreat that she and her husband offered. Also, since Ms. Carroll had revealed to me that she was on her third marriage, I wasn't entirely convinced she qualified as a, um, role model for a couples therapy course.

Did she help lift me out of my funk? Not really, but she did provide a welcome distraction—and fodder for this blog post. So I guess that's something.

*Technically my wife's company, but we shared the workload

Earl Newman and me

Artist Earl Newman is perhaps best known for his series of more than 50 silk-screened Monterey Jazz Festival posters, the entire collection of which resides in the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Beyond the Smithsonian, however, few people have ever heard of Earl or seen his amazing work.

I first met Earl in 1978, when he was hawking his wares at the Sawdust Festival, an annual, indoor arts and crafts fair at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. My first impressions of Earl as I approached his booth: (1) he's kinda short and impish, (2) he seems personable, (3) he's an interesting mix of intense and calm. I wanted to get to know this man, even if I wasn't necessarily interested in what he was selling. 

But as I got closer to his booth, I started to get interested in what he was selling. His silkscreened posters were colorful, playful, immediately and effortlessly accessible, quite well executed and produced, and, for a recent college grad who was living on his own for the first time, affordable. For a 23 x 35-inch poster, Earl was charging just $6—or two for $10.

I bought two.

More than three decades later, after my two Earl Newman posters had grown tattered from posting, removing, and re-posting them on several living-room walls, Earl's path and mine crossed yet again. This time we were both guests at a 2012 New Year's Day party hosted by a mutual friend of ours in Kings Valley, Oregon. I recognized Earl immediately, and reminded him of our brief encounter at the Sawdust Festival in the previous millennium. While he graciously acted like he remembered me, and I almost believed him because he sounded so sincere, I doubt he could have, considering the thousands of customers he must've served in the interim.

But no matter. Reconnecting with Earl, on a personal level this time instead of a transactional one, led to a friendship that endures to this day, with Earl now in his early 90s and me in my late 60s. Over the past several years, my wife and I have visited Earl numerous times at his country home in Summit, Oregon; talked him out of an original piece (for a paltry $300) inspired by his surfer daughter April (who is now his caregiver); had him over to our house for dinner and informal gatherings; attended wine-tasting parties at his place; sat with him in front of the music stage at the annual Summit Summer Festival; visited his booth—and had wine with him behind the booth—at the fabled Oregon Country Fair; hired him to create the cover for a magazine I edited; and, of course, bought several more of his posters, including, most recently, this beauty from the 1965 Monterey Jazz Festival:

Even today as a nonagenarian, Earl is still producing art. He seems driven to make art right up to the moment he draws his final breath. I imagine that one day his daughter April will find him slouched over his drawing table, pastel stick in hand, his head resting on a wash of brilliant color recently applied to some fantastical scene from a dream only Earl Newman could've had—and only Earl Newman could've found a way to share with the world…at a price almost anyone can afford.

That day will be a sad one, but it will also be a happy one for anyone who knew Earl and was fortunate enough to share a moment or two with him, if only as a customer purchasing some small keepsake, a stirring or playful or beautiful or whimsical reminder of Earl's great heart and immense talent. 

Before that day arrives, I want to say just one more time: Thank you, Earl. For everything.

Harry "Oregon Tilth" MacCormack and me

If you've ever purchased anything organic from a grocery store or food cooperative, you might've noticed a logo on its label that looks something like this:

Oregon Tilth, a "nonprofit membership organization advocating organic food and farming," was co-founded by organic farmer and educator Harry MacCormack in 1975 in Corvallis, Oregon. (It's worth noting here that organic certification by Oregon Tilth is not the same thing as USDA Organic, which is a highly diluted, corporate-friendly knockoff.)

I first became aware of Harry through a monthly gardening column he wrote for the Corvallis Gazette-Times back in the late 1980s. His columns were always interesting, if a bit esoteric—especially when espousing the effects of the full moon and other celestial phenomena on planting and harvesting. But I was in my 30s then, and not quite ready to digest such mystical concepts. It wasn't until years later that I would begin to fully appreciate Harry's unique perceptions and wisdom.

I gradually became acquainted with Harry, the man, through his presence at Corvallis-area farmers' markets. He was the guy behind the table full of produce from his organic farm, Sunbow Farm. Strangely, while his produce always looked fresh, beautiful, and healthful, Harry often appeared to be irritable, even angry. Or was he just stressed? And if so, stressed about what?

Over the course of the next few decades, as I got to know Harry on a more personal level, the things that he was irritable, angry, and/or stressed about would eventually become clear. I would also acquire a better understanding of what he was passionate about—and optimistic about.  

It was during the years 2010 through 2021, when my wife and I were running a small hobby farm and making regular trips to Sunbow Farm for pickup loads of Harry's famous leaf compost and wood chips, that I really began to appreciate Harry as a person, as an environmental activist and futurist, as a gifted creative writer, and as a friend. That's because, during each visit to Harry's farm for a yard of compost or chips, Harry would talk…and I would listen.

Harry MacCormack (from his website, 
https://sunbowfarm.org/)

These conversations invariably were centered on Harry's passions: farming, the warming climate, and writing. And the conversations were always fascinating…stirring…enlightening…and sometimes terrifying. Fascinating when he would talk about his plans for a hydrogen-generating garbage digester; stirring when he would wax eloquently about his latest book of poetry; enlightening when he would speculate about the future of farming in the drying climate of Oregon's Willamette Valley; terrifying when he would speculate about the eventual disappearance of the valley's most important river, the Willamette, due to a potential absence of snowpack in the Cascade Mountains.

Surprisingly, Harry would expound on these weighty topics not with a frown or a crotchety old-man snarl, but with a wry grin, like he had exclusive access to the punchline of some outrageous cosmic joke. And it wouldn't have surprised me if he did, considering the depth of his intellect and the frequencies to which he seemed tuned. Sometimes Harry would talk about things that were so out there, or so practically unfathomable, that I found myself just nodding and saying, "Uh huh" as he spoke. But then later, after I got home or after I'd taken a few days to think about it, Harry's words and ideas would return to me in a flash of light, as if he had somehow flipped a switch in my brain—or my heart. I would have a sudden realization of what Harry was trying to say, accompanied by an intuitive, almost dreamlike understanding of its meaning and importance.

This was Harry's gift to anyone who would take the time to listen to him, to hear him out, to open his or her mind and heart to concepts that may or may not have a precedent or a literal context or even a factual basis in what we commonly refer to as the "real world." With a little patience, along with a willingness to submit to a fine-tuning of one's own frequencies, one might be rewarded with an exquisite peek at life in all its wondrous beauty, as Harry perceives it. 

The experience that perhaps comes closest to what I'm trying to convey here is witnessing an aurora borealis. I've only seen the phenomenon as a filmed or recorded image myself, so I can only imagine what it must be like to see one in person. And until you've met Harry in person, I suppose your imagination will have to suffice as well.

Meanwhile, you might be interested in reading one of Harry's many literary endeavors, and if you aren't already eating organic, maybe knowing a little something about this remarkable co-founder of Oregon Tilth will inspire you. 

Harry, the Earth, and I hope so.

John "Talk Like a Pirate Day" Baur and me

I had been working as a publications editor and designer at Oregon Sea Grant for about a year when an affable fellow named John Baur was brought on board in 2002 to serve as a news writer. My colleague Pat Kight, who had been handling most of the news writing and was transitioning to website and social media management, knew John as an actor in the local theater scene, in which Pat also participated as a director. Pat recommended John to our boss, Joe Cone; Joe then went through the requisite steps to run an official search for other candidates, and John ultimately bested the competition and got the job.

John was a colorful character from the get-go. His humorous banter during office encounters was a welcome relief from what could be a somber atmosphere (we studied marine issues such as ocean acidification and hypoxia, global warming, and depleted fisheries, after all), and he often had us in stitches during otherwise pedantic staff meetings. 

Several months after his hiring, John and his friend Mark Summers pitched an idea they had come up with in 1995, International Talk Like a Pirate Day, to Pulitzer Prize-winning humorist Dave Barry of the Miami Herald. Barry liked the idea, wrote a column about it, and International Talk Like a Pirate Day was officially and indelibly launched.

Over the next several months, as word spread about International Talk Like a Pirate Day (ITLAPD) and John and Mark were being bombarded by requests for interviews, I could sense that was John starting to grow restless in his comparatively mundane position as a news writer. In fact, he himself came right out and stated as much in an interview with the local paper, the Corvallis Gazette-Times. 

Oops.

The director of Oregon Sea Grant, Bob Malouf, read the article and…didn't really appreciate what John had said about his job. I believe that over the course of several subsequent conversations between John and Bob, a decision was made that John would resign in good standing so he could focus his energy on ITLAPD.

And focus he did. Over the next several years, John and Mark (with Pat Kight) created an official ITLAPD website; wrote and published several books about how to talk like a pirate and other related themes; John and his wife Tori appeared on ABC's Wife Swap (John later told me the harrowing experience almost wrecked his family, despite the $50,000 payday); and John and Mark were featured in dozens of radio, TV, newspaper, and magazine interviews and made public appearances as special guests at a variety of celebratory events across the country.

Despite capitalizing on ITLAPD to such an impressive extent, John and Mark were never quite able to earn a living at it and both had to work other jobs. I haven't followed Mark's career trajectory, but John landed a job as a newspaper editor in the Canary Islands, then transitioned to news writing for a paper in New Orleans. Now he and Tori live in Tacoma, WA, where she is a teacher and John continues writing books, promoting ITLAPD, and answering calls for interviews each September 19.

John "Ol' Chumbucket" Baur

John and I also keep in touch with each other via Facebook, and if you want to follow someone who is not only entertaining but incredibly personable and smart, check him out at https://www.facebook.com/Talk.Like.A.Pirate.Day

Oh yeah, and...Arrrrr!