Tag: books

‘The Good Lord was next to him’

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You hear some odd things, when you sit ten feet from a police scanner.

When I worked in Mississippi, the police scanner was constantly abuzz, sitting atop the long desk where we spread that week’s newspaper pages for editing. 

There were conversations about suspicious people walking through neighborhoods. There were notifications of warrants being served. There were calls for assistance at house fires. 

But I never thought I would hear a call about an eighteen-wheeler ramming through someone’s house. In August 2010, in Magee, it happened. 

The call came over the police scanner shortly after three o’clock, and I looked at a co-worker, befuddled. I grabbed a camera and a notebook and headed out. 

I drove over somewhat skeptically, wondering why an eighteen-wheeler would even be on Laurel Drive Southeast. And even if a vehicle did slam into someone’s home, I was sure that it just scraped a corner. 

When I arrived, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Power lines flickered with orange in the street. Debris floated in the air. Up a steep, grassy bank, there was an eighteen-wheeler jammed into the side of a brick house. It had gone so far inside that just its back half was visible. The sight was rather unbelievable.

I stood with police officers, first responders and curious neighbors. I wondered if anyone was home, shortly after three o’clock on a Monday. Turns out, someone was. The man was elderly, and he was taking a nap when the crash happened. 

The driver of the eighteen-wheeler had apparently had some sort of heart-related episode, and lost control. He barreled over light poles, causing some homes to lose power. 

The man living in the home was in his bed, near the back corner of the house, opposite of where the big truck crashed. But an eighteen-wheeler with momentum doesn’t just stop instantly. It tore through the man’s house, reaching his bedroom. The homeowner suffered a laceration on the back of his head, as well as other cuts and bruises. He was airlifted to an area hospital.

While I milled around the truck, curious what it was transporting, what had happened to the driver, the police department’s chief investigator emerged from the rubble. He knew I was there to get the story. He told me that when first responders got inside, the homeowner was in his bed, the truck’s front fender resting against him. It had stopped just in time.

“The Good Lord was next to him in that bed,” the investigator told me.

It was the only quote I used in the story.

Above and beyond

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My first job as a college graduate was in Magee, Mississippi, four hours away from home. I rented a three-bedroom, two-bathroom home for five hundred bucks a month, and it felt like grand theft real estate. That house was huge. In fact, the previous renter used a a large picnic table as his kitchen table. I could have rollerbladed around that kitchen, there was so much room.

Magee is situated along a main highway that takes you to the blackjack tables and slot machines in Biloxi and Gulfport, or to the Mardi Gras beads in New Orleans. Magee is a stopping-off town along that highway, to fill up with gas or to grab fast food. Without Highway 49, I am not certain many people would ever know about Magee, a small town situated about halfway between Jackson and Hattiesburg. But I found it, and I am glad that I did, even if it was for a short six months in 2010.

On my first day as a reporter there, I was told to grab a camera and snap some photos of what was believed to be the largest catfish ever caught in Simpson County. In my first week, I was told to drive down to Highway 49 and interview the man with a human-sized cross who was preaching — shouting, really — the gospel to passersby. When I interviewed him, his ramblings made little sense. I covered so many things and not much at all in Magee. I wrote about a water culvert being replaced. I previewed an elementary school book fair and also attended it to take pictures. I spent a few hours with an amateur radio operator in his tiny control room behind his house. News in Magee was never earth-shattering. I do not recall a time when a reporter from the statewide newspaper attended some event or meeting. I remember just once seeing television cameras, at a brick house an eighteen-wheeler had crashed into as a result of the driver falling asleep. The elderly man living at the house was taking a nap when it happened, and the eighteen-wheeler came to rest against the bed where he was sleeping. People talked about it for weeks.

One of the things that stood out the most to me in my short time in Magee was the football team. The team’s head coach made covering the Trojans a piece of cake. He spent time with me during weekdays in his office and the team’s stuffy locker room recapping and previewing games. My God, that locker room was a sauna. He gave me great quotes immediately after games on Friday nights, whether they were big wins or disappointing losses. I never saw him in a bad mood. I lived not even a half mile from the football stadium, and the practice field was a thirty-yard flag route from my front yard. The coach knew that. Often on the weekends, he would call me and let me know that he left the official stats from the last game in my mailbox, so that I had the most accurate numbers for my game story. It sounds like a small thing, but I remember him doing that. 

Six years after covering his team, I spoke to him about moments in his thirty-year career that transcended pancake blocks, A gaps and all-out blitzes. One memory stuck out the most. He was coaching in Raleigh, Mississippi, in the late 1990s and the week before spring training began, he received a phone call. One of his players had been in an argument with his stepdad and was shot at point-blank range, he says. Coach rushed to the hospital. When the boy woke up in the hospital, he asked for one person — his coach. I asked him why he believed the boy asked for him and not a relative or a best friend.

“I think it’s just that I developed that relationship with him,” he told me. “A lot of times as a coach you’ll go above and beyond. I think it’s important to build those relationships with them, and let them know you’re there for them.”

Coach says that boy went on to become a pastor and has done well in life. The boy tells his former coach when they talk now how thankful he is that he was there for him.

“We got to be pretty good friends,” Coach says.

This impact is why he, like so many others, got into coaching. He felt like he had something to give back. 

“Sports teaches you a lot more than just winning and losing and about football,” he tells me. “It teaches you that sometimes things don’t go the way you think they should go. It’s how you deal with that. If things don’t go well, they can tuck tail and run or stand and fight and battle through it.”

He realizes that coaches need to win to earn their time at a particular program. Winning keeps coaches in their positions, and that consistency allows them to have long-lasting impacts. But, he cautions, coaches who want to focus on Xs and Os and only win are “missing a tremendous opportunity.” 

“I feel like being a true coach is a calling,” he says. “You’re more than coaching a sport. You’re saving some people’s lives. I think coaches have that influence over guys. Sports have influence over them. You can kind of hold something over their head to make them act right, do right.”

He was at a coaching clinic not long ago, and some words caught his attention. A speaker stated that coaches were in one of the last professions in which someone can be tough on someone else and hold that person accountable. 

“We can offer them discipline, character, things that help them be successful,” he says. 

He says he has always tried to do that. He has always tried to treat other people’s kids the way he treats his own. He’s old school, so he is tough on them, but he is fair. He always lets them know that he loves them, even when he is being tough on them.

“You hear something enough, you start believing in it,” he says.

He can’t imagine doing anything but coaching. He believes it is the greatest profession in the world. It is a calling, as he tells me several times. 

“If you’re doing what you’re passionate about, you never work a day in your life,” he says. “That’s how I feel about coaching.”

So much focus on coaching and sports is on the result, not the process. It is on wins and losses. There needs to be more room in the win column for lives positively impacted, lives saved. 

“Any coach worth his salt will tell you that between the white lines is a very small part to what the overall picture is,” he says.

In the bleachers

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We have lived in this town for more than two years, and we had never set foot in the high school.

That isn’t unusual, considering we are a handful of months past our ten-year reunion from a school in a different county. None of us has a kid that age, yet. 

But earlier this month, we decided to go with a couple friends to a Monday night game against our town’s neighbor, separated by a bridge over the interstate. The Blue Devils versus the Green Wave. Where do they come up with these nicknames?

We pulled into a pickup-truck-filled parking lot about a half hour before tipoff. Walking into the gymnasium was like stepping into the past. The smell of cheap popcorn. Black Nikes squealing on a shiny floor. Cheerleaders forming a pyramid. 

As a reporter, I grew accustomed to pretty much ignoring all this, and waltzing past the ticket counter, a badge emblazoned with “MEDIA” my key through any door. On Monday, I had to pay. 

We sat with our friends in the top corner of the visitor bleachers, above the rickety black handrails, and I got to really take it all in. I did not have to scribble down statistics and Tweet about three-pointers. I just sat and watched. 

It was a struggle of a game. The Blue Devils wore the Green Wave down late, winning 39-23 in a 32-minute game. The teams combined for fewer than two points per minute. The motion offense lacked motion at times. The two-three zone had holes. Wide-open shots grazed the side of the backboard. Passes went astray. One team dribbled the ball around for forty-plus seconds without shooting. There really should be a shot clock in high school hoops.

But it was all so beautiful. I was not buried in a notebook or scanning team rosters or shrinking some game information to 140 characters. I got to look up and take note of other things. 

I saw the support of other Blue Devils, the students sitting in a circle ten rows up, talking with each other, face to face, instead of through Snapchat or whatever teenagers talk through these days. 

I saw navy- and green-clad parents leaned against the wall on the back row, fixated on the flow of the game, some clapping, some with hands clenched tight when the game was close. 

I saw tall banners covering the walls behind both basketball goals, each showing posed seniors. There were basketball players, wrestlers, others. How cool, to have your own life-size banner. 

I saw a toddler obsessed with Mickey Mouse episodes on an iPhone during timeouts and at halftime, only to look up, hardly blinking, when the ball was being dribbled up and down the court. I saw another toddler, after the game, on a man’s shoulders, trying to throw a basketball through one hoop.

Being in the moment, instead of reaching in your pocket or purse to filter it on Instagram, is far underrated. 

So look up.

1.1 miles

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It is hidden in the heart of town, in plain sight. It is never overcrowded, so we go when it is not too warm, not frigid. Those weather requirements vary from day to day in an Alabama January. 

Today was a perfect day to go. We went in a hurry, to beat the forecasted rain. It was cloudy, but the breeze was pleasant. The 1.1-mile walk is not very tiring.

I loaded Sonny in the back of the truck, and we listened to Kane Brown on the five-minute drive over, arriving at 2:40 p.m. We made our way around the soccer and football fields on the paved walking path, reaching the monument on the right that honors the victims of the April 27, 2011 tornado. 

Just to the left is a slow creek, which separates the ballfields from an open green lawn, where people hold picnics, where a local church hosts a trunk-or-treat event in October, at which enough Tootsie Rolls and Skittles are handed out to give a toothless man a cavity. There are picnic tables under a metal blue awning, and nearby is a basketball court with two hoops, both with wooden backboards. Old school, like it used to be. There is also a small playground, where moms push their babies on the swings, making them smile. 

Back over to the right side, a dad underhands pitches to one of his two sons. The boy manages to make contact with every swing, despite the lime-green bat being almost as tall as him. He will be a good player, someday. His brother chases foul balls, waiting for his turn at the plate.

We pass a middle-aged woman power-walking, and she says hello. The two teenagers we come to also say hi. So does the old man who has to be sweltering in those blue jeans. 

We continue our walk, and there is a Little Free Library behind the batting cages, a barn-shaped red mailbox, essentially, where people can place a book they think others may enjoy. You bring a book, you take a book. It is empty for now, but it is new. I think maybe I’ll bring a couple of my books next time. 

Over to the left there is a baseball field designed specifically for individuals with mental and/or physical challenges. It is popular here. Beyond its right field fence is a Veterans Memorial Wall, covered in names.

We get past the baseball fields, and there is another open green space. An old man has jabbed a white pole in the soft ground, a light orange flag attached to its top. It appears the flag was likely once red, decades ago. The man is set up about 65 yards away, maybe a dozen golf balls at his feet. He winds up, swings and hits one right on line, just short of the flag. His next shot lands even closer, maybe five feet. I holler that it was a heck of a shot.

“I get one every now and then,” the man cracks.

We pass him, and I turn around to see one more shot. He does the same thing. He is modest.

Now, our walk is almost over. We pass park and recreation workers in a green John Deere 6×4, riding field to field, turning the damp dirt. Both workers wave at me. So does the lady driving away in her SUV. 

It takes just 25 minutes for this walk, from start to finish. We left the house at 2:35, back by 3:10. Sonny is tired for now, thank goodness. There were no ringing cellphones on this quick trip, no need to know who just Tweeted what, no Facebook debates about marching women or inauguration populations.

Yeah, I think we will do this again tomorrow.

Books available at Dec. 10 Christmas event in Chelsea

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A great event was recently brought to my attention, and I’m excited to be a part of it.

I’ll be attending the Christmas Open House & Local Author Expo on Saturday, Dec. 10 from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. at the Chelsea General Store. The address is 14555 Highway 280, Chelsea, AL 35043.

Here is a link to the event on Facebook.

I’ll be on hand with my three books: Trussville, Alabama: A Brief History, Deep Green and Heart of the Plate.

This event includes several local authors. They are Stephanie Rodda, Cabot Barden, Trailon Johnson, Ellen Sallas, Betty Smith, William Thornton, Marian Powell, Rita Moritz, Karen Allen, Shirley Aaron, Audrey Pitt and Urainah Glidewell.

The event is also combined with the store’s annual Open House, which includes snacks and sampling. There will also be door prizes.

So, come on out, get some good books, and eat some great food. It’s sure to be a good time.

First 2017 book event scheduled

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My first book event of 2017 is scheduled. 

I’ll be toting books and heading north to Guntersville, Alabama, on Saturday, June 17, 2017 for the Authors on the Lake event. It is scheduled for 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

There will be around 50 authors on hand with their books.

The physical address of the event is 1120 Sunset Drive, Guntersville, AL 35976.

I’ll bring copies of Trussville, Alabama: A Brief History, Deep Green and Heart of the Plate.

Who knows, maybe there will be another book out by then.

Hope to see you there.

Calling all high school coaches, players for new book

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I’m calling all high school coaches and former student-athletes for potential inclusion in a new book that I’m working on.

I’m interviewing any and all high school coaches and former student-athletes who have great stories to tell that transcend wins and losses, 40-yard dash times and recruiting. This book will focus on the other side of coaching, the relationship side.

This is not just football. If you’re a baseball coach, I want to hear from you. Same if you’re a basketball, soccer, volleyball, cross country, bowling or hockey coach. Anything.

It could be a coach’s story of helping a kid out in various ways. Maybe the coach toted the kid to and from practice. Maybe he helped with homework. Maybe he floated a player a few bucks here and there for food. Maybe the coach has a specific way of motivating his players that is unique. Anything. Nothing is uninteresting.

So if you are a coach, or know a coach with great stories to tell, have them contact me at garylloydbooks@gmail.com. 

Thanks!

‘Heart of the Plate’ earns regional news coverage

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What a week it has been.

My newest fiction book, Heart of the Plate, has earned news coverage from several regional publications. I’ve listed them below. Click the links to read the stories.

The Northport Gazette also covered the release of the book in its July 27, 2016 edition.

I hope you all order a copy of the book, and please let me know what you think!

Tuscaloosa, UA speaking engagements soon

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An incredible opportunity has presented itself, and I couldn’t be more excited.

On July 26-27, I will be in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, for two reasons:

  1. I’ll be speaking to the Tuscaloosa Christian Writers Group at the Tuscaloosa Public Library on Tuesday, July 26 at 6:30 p.m.
  2. I’ll also be speaking about news reporting and book writing to the Reporting and Advanced Reporting classes at the University of Alabama’s College of Communication and Information Sciences both days.

I have Dr. George Daniels, the assistant dean of the college, to thank for the invitation and opportunity. 

I will also be recording a studio interview about my books and work as a journalist for future use in journalism classes at UA.

How cool is that?

I’m ecstatic about this opportunity to talk about my reporting days, as well as Trussville, Alabama: A Brief History, Deep Green and the books to come.

Roll Tide.