Wilt

      The pro basketball season is too long.   It’s a grind.   The season takes forever to make its way to the playoffs, and then the playoffs take forever.   It’s because too many teams make the playoffs.   In fact there are too many teams.    Period.   The talent pool is diluted and polluted, if you’ll permit me this two-ply watery metaphor.   Too many teams suck.   The game is too slow.   Too much walking the ball up court and then settling into a boring half-court offense.   Too much traveling, too much carrying it over, too many defensive fouls called that shouldn’t be called, and too many offensive fouls that are never called.   And of course since it’s the NBA there’s always too much scandal, too much off-the-court crime, too many tattoos, and too many children sired by frisky superstars out of wedlock.   It’s a mess.

 Okay.   Enough of the negatives.   I’m sure you already agree with me about that stuff anyway.   And if you don’t, start.   Because I’m right.   Okay?      The issue is how do I keep you all entertained basketballwise while we wait to see if Kobe and LeBron get to play against each other in the finals while we concurrently, collectively, keep from killing ourselves out of boredom?

      I think I know what to start with.   Or rather who.

      Wilt.

      Wilton Norman Chamberlain.   Wilt the Stilt.   Goliath.   The Big Dipper.   Chairman of the Boards.   He was the Babe Ruth of basketball….or perhaps Babe Ruth was the Wilt Chamberlain of baseball.   Either or.   That’s how dominant Wilt’s influence was on the game he played—he was positively Ruthian. 

      What gave me the idea to talk about Wilt today is that last week—March 2^nd to be exact—marked the 48^th anniversary of The Big Dipper’s greatest triumph, his 100-point game.   That’s right.   On March 2^nd, 1962, playing center for the Philadelphia Warriors, Wilt Chamberlain made 36 field goals and 28 free throws in a game against the New York Knickerbockers.   A hundred points.   Not in a week, in one game.   More on that in a moment.

      But first, it behooves me to make a few appropriate remarks concerning Wilt’s basketball legacy.   Because I get the feeling that a lot of folks out there have either barely heard of Wilt Chamberlain or—zounds!—have not heard of him at all.   Which is sad.   Never mind that he ruled the NBA way back in the 60s, before Reality TV and Twitter gave our lives meaning.   That’s not a good enough excuse.   I mean George Washington lived over 200 years ago, and we’ve all heard of him.   

      Back to Wilt’s accomplishments.   I hardly know where to begin.   How about seven scoring titles, eleven rebounding titles, and nine field goal percentage titles?   How about the 1967-68 season, when, as befits basketball’s best-passing pivotman ever, he became the only center to ever lead the league in assists.   No other center has ever come close.   How about rebounding?   Nowadays if a guy gets ten or twelve rebounds the press goes bonkers and the Dow plummets.   The 7-foot, 2-inch Chamberlain once grabbed 55 rebounds in a single game.   He once scored 41 points and grabbed 40 rebounds in the same game.   Of the top 45 rebounding games of all time, Wilt has 25 of them.   Of the top 68 scoring games of all time, Wilt has 49 of them.   In the 1961-62 season he averaged over 50 points a game.   That’s right; I said averaged.   It’s hard to fathom.   Can you imagine a player today getting 35 points and grabbing 20 rebounds and the announcer stating categorically and with a straight face that the guy had a bad night???

      Wilt never got tired.   Maybe that came from being a track and field star in high school and college.   Maybe it was just a gift from God.   Maybe, perhaps, it had something to do with his bizarre claim to have bedded over 20,000 women.   I know the math doesn’t quite add up on that one; he probably put the decimal point in the wrong place.   But to even be able to make up a fib of that magnitude, and be even close to being believed, well, let’s just say it betrays a certain indefatigable quality.   How else can we explain that he almost never sat on the bench?   One year he averaged over 48 minutes played per game, which is pretty tough to do when you consider that an NBA game is only 48 minutes long.   But of course sometimes the games do go into overtime.   That year Wilt played 3,882 out of a possible 3,890 minutes.   He missed eight lousy minutes of action all year long.   What happened was he missed the last eight minutes of one game when he was tossed out for picking up two technical fouls for arguing.   It could not have been because he fouled out in the conventional way, i.e. picking up six personal fouls in a game, because Wilt never fouled out of an NBA game.   Not once.

      Perhaps the most compelling testimony to his greatness is that Wilt changed the game.   Literally.   Or rather the powers-that-be changed the game because of him, as in changed the rules.   In the old days players were allowed to leap above the rim, catch a pass above the cylinder, and just lay it in.   But after watching Wilt do that several hundred times they instituted the “offensive goaltending” rule, making it a violation to touch the ball above the invisible “cone” above the hoop, a rule which still stands.   In the old days the “key” used to be only 12 feet wide.   But after watching Wilt score at will throughout his first five years in the league they widened the key to its present-day width of 16 feet.   Because of him.   It’s a rule which obviously makes it harder for post-up players to score, because an offensive player isn’t allowed to spend more than three seconds in the key.  

      The new rule worked on everyone.   Except Wilt.   He still scored at will.   

      And speaking of scoring, we now return to Wilt’s 100-point explosion of March 2^nd, 1962.   Scoring 100 points in a game was such an accomplishment that even my father—not even close to a basketball fan back then—mentioned it.   We were living in Iowa at the time, I was six years old, we were driving home from somewhere, alone, and my dad says, “Hey son, didja hear Wilt Chamberlain scored a hundred points?”   It was the very first time in my life my old man had ever talked to me about professional sports of any kind.   I felt proud, honored; and then replied, “Who’s Wilt Chamberlain?”

      In a sense, it wasn’t considered that big a deal back then for a colossus of Wilt’s ilk to pour in a hundred points.   Because, for one thing, he regularly scored in the 60s.   For another, he already held the single-game scoring record of 78.   And the other reason is that hardly anyone actually saw the game.   The game was played in Hershey, Pennsylvania (of all places) the same Hershey PA where the chocolate factory was, and the stench of chocolate regularly filled the air.   Most of the players couldn’t wait to get the hell out of town, and even though only a few NBA games a year were ever played in Hershey only 4,124 lucky souls showed up on that cold and rainy gray March evening to catch a glimpse of history.   And remember, this was 1962.   Only a few NBA games a year were televised, and this was not one of them.   And there was no such thing as ESPN.   Sadly, there is no film or videotape in existence to commemorate the event.

      Wilt himself was in no hurry to play in that particular game.   Legend has it that he had stayed the previous night in New York (where he lived) and was up all night “partying” with a female companion; something, as mentioned, that Wilt was certainly prone to do.   Otherwise occupied, The Big Dipper (sorry, I couldn’t resist) reportedly got no rest, never mind sleep, and the big fella didn’t board the train to nearby Philadelphia until 8:00 a.m.   Nursing a hangover.   Truth be told, probably even a lot less than 4,124 people would have shown up if it wasn’t for the fact that that night there was an exhibition basketball game right before the real one, featuring nearby Philadelphia’s pro football team, the Eagles, versus the Baltimore Colts.   Football players playing hoops?   Guys scoring 100 points?   Chocolate fouling the air?   What a weird night that must have been….

      Right from the opening center jump Wilt began to pile up the points.   A few minutes into it the score was 19-3 and Wilt had 13 of the 19.   He had 23 points at the end of the 1^st quarter, 41 at the half.   No big deal, though.   Wilt often had 30 or 35 points at the half that season.   Business as usual.  

      But then the Warriors’ coach, Frank McGuire, got his team together and announced his visionary 2^nd-half strategy: “Wilt is always open, so pass him the ball.”   Brilliant.

      After three quarters Wilt had amassed 69 points.   The crowd began screaming, “Give it to Wilt!   Give it to Wilt!”   Aside from anyone associated with the Knicks, 100 points was now clearly everyone’s goal.    The game soon deteriorated into a farce.   The rival Knicks players started fouling everyone on the Warriors except Wilt.   The Warriors replied by immediately fouling everyone on the Knicks in order to get the ball back right away and save the clock.   Wilt was being double, triple, even quadruple teamed.   But it didn’t matter.   With 46 seconds to go he slam-dunked an alley-oop pass for points 99 and 100, and the crowd, small as it was, went berserk.   Over 200 spectators stormed the court.   Mere mortals grabbed and clawed at the newly crowned god of hoops.   They had to stop the game for nine minutes until order could be restored.   The game resumed.   Wilt reportedly just stood at center court for those final 46 seconds, calmly and motionless, just waiting for the game to end.   Final score, in a defensive struggle: Warriors 169, New York 147.   Wilt had reached the century mark.   Triple digits.  

      Hard to believe that it’s been 48 years since my dad asked me if I’d heard that Wilt had bagged those 100 points….

      And yet, after digesting all this delightful information, it is my hope that perhaps now you are thinking it’s sort of silly to refer to anyone else other than Wilt as the greatest player in basketball history.   And you’d be right.

      In addition to his enormous basketball talents, one other thing that distinguished Chamberlain from all other basketball players and virtually all other athletes was his great physical strength.   Wilt’s strength was downright legendary.   He lifted weights, and that only magnified his natural physical gifts, his natural, nearly superhuman power.   He once dunked a ball so hard he was said to have broken an opponent’s toe. (think about it).   Tom Heinsohn likes to tell the story of one time when Wilt snatched Heinsohn’s Boston Celtics teammate K.C. Jones right out of the air as he drove to the basket “like he was a fly”, his (K.C.’s) legs “still moving in the air” as Wilt held him aloft.   Bob Lanier, a Hall-of-Fame center and a huge man in his own right, once remarked that in one game Wilt lifted him up “like a coffee cup” in order to gain inside position.   But here’s my favorite: In college, at the University of Kansas, Wilt was once reputed to have been challenged by a Kansas football player and noted weightlifter to a weightlifting contest; the other young man, cocky, burly and powerful, reached down his meaty hands, grabbed the bar, rose to a standing position, and then curled a huge amount of weight before tossing the bar rudely back to the floor.   Wilt then calmly reached down and picked up the same bar and also curled it….but with only one hand.

      Don’t’cha just love stories like that?

      On that note, we now we come to that point in the column where your loyal correspondent shrewdly interjects himself into the story, to give it depth and that all-important “personal” touch.   Because a long time ago I myself learned a little something about that legendary strength.   The hard way.   

      It was 1971.   I was a sophomore in high school.   I didn’t even have my driver’s license yet.   But I loved basketball, ‘loved the Lakers.   So one night I tagged along to a Lakers game at the old Forum with a couple friends of mine who were seniors, who could drive.   Wilt was a Laker by this time, nearing the end of his career.   But he was still the greatest and most dominant player in the game.

      And the scariest.   Wilt was at heart a gentle soul (that’s why he never killed anyone on the court, even though they pounded on him unmercifully to keep him from scoring), but he looked mean.   And on this particular night the Lakers lost, so The Big Dipper was in a foul mood.   He tried to sneak out to his car via a side exit used to process garbage, but my high school friends and I (and about 30 other canny autograph seekers) spied him.   (I guess when you are a black man in a white shirt and you are over seven feet tall and wearing orange slacks, it’s hard to be inconspicuous.)

      Wilt slowly made his way to his car, signing autographs as he went.   Being young and stupid, I didn’t have anything substantial for him to write on, no program, no writing tablet, nothing.   Except my tiny ticket stub.   So not only was I stupid, now I felt stupid.   But I was also brave.   Sort of.    I worked my way up to where I was standing directly in front of the great man.   “Sign my ticket, Wilt?” I piped up, in my high nasally voice; my voice hadn’t changed yet.   I was a mess in 10^th grade.   Anyway, I held out my ticket stub, but realized immediately that he would surely not sign something so inconveniently small and pulled my hand away….but Wilt surprisingly reached out his hand to take it, just as I was pulling my hand back….so he pulled his hand back….but by this time I was re-extending my hand, thinking he might actually sign it….amazingly, he again reached his huge hand out to accept the tiny ticket stub….but yet again I comically retracted my hand in defeat….anyway, we danced this dance for about five or six seconds, Wilt becoming more and more irritated, until……………….…      

      I then experienced one of those watershed moments a young man experiences in his life.   One of those moments he can’t help but remember and could not possibly ever forget.

      He grabbed me.

      Wilt Chamberlain grabbed me.

      No, he didn’t grab me by the throat, thank the gods.   Or even by the shoulders.   What he did in his frustration was slam his huge hands down onto my wrists and squeeze them.   Hard.   My heart stopped.   My skinny, high-voiced throat clotted shut.   When my heart started up again it raced like a rabbit’s.   I looked up into Wilt’s angry glare, his famous goateed face, his dark penetrating eyes, waiting to die.   What I remember to this day was his unholy power.   It wasn’t just that I was a skinny high school kid and he was a huge muscular athlete.   It was that legendary, over-the-top, superhuman strength I’d heard so much about before and since.   I could feel it.   I felt like he could—if he so desired—have yanked my captive wrists to the side and torn my arms from their sockets.   Easily.  

      My two friends and all the other autograph seekers froze and stared with dropped jaws, waiting for Wilt to kill me.

      Obviously he did not, for if he did you would not be reading this sentence.   He grabbed the ticket stub out of my hand, scribbled his name and handed it back.   Glaring at me all the while.   To this day I am shocked that I did not lose control of my bowels and soil myself.   Maybe I did, and I’ve just blocked it from my memory.   Driving home—with my two so-called friends laughing uncontrollably in the front seat—it took about 20 minutes for my heart to return to its normal pace.   And then I felt good about it.   Because I survived.   And I owned a ticket stub signed by Wilt Chamberlain.

      Which I soon lost.   Don’t know how, don’t know where.   God, kids are stupid sometimes.  

      Wilt Chamberlain died on October 12^th, 1999, from complications surrounding a bad heart.   Hard to believe that sports’ most indestructible and most tireless gladiator could ever have been stricken with a bad heart.   But he was.   He was only 63 years old.

      Sure wish I still had that ticket stub….

meet….The Sports Philosopher

Brad "I wilted in front of the big dipper" Eastland

Brad Eastland is an author, historian, film buff, basketball raconteur, and sports nut, in no particular order.   Brad’s other recent columns for LaVerneOnline can be found in Sports under ‘The Sports Philosopher’ and also in Viewpoint under ‘Brad Eastland’s View’.    Brad has also written four novels and over 20 short-stories.    Samples of his best fiction work can be discovered within the links below :
 
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/gamble/gamble.html
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/basket/basket.html
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/freebies/freebies.html

Two of Bonita's Big Bashers: Both Matth Gelalich, left, and Brian Tuttle hit a pair of home runs against Northview.

In one of most anticipated early-season matchups of the 2010 baseball season in the San Gabriel Valley, neither Bonita nor Northview won. With the scored 7-7 after nine innings of plays, the weather and an expiring clock were the big winners. But until the raindrops fell and the timer wound down, it was another classic confrontation between the two arch rivals.

Carrying its momentum from the night before when it won 21-1 over Ayala, Bonita scored early and often. In the top of the first after two outs, pitcher Brian Tuttle stroked a solo home run off Northview ace Eddie Pedroza. Meanwhile, Tuttle was shutting down Northview on the mound as well, surrendering a pair of singles in the first two innings.

In the top of the second, Bonita went up 2-0 on another solo home run, this second blast by left fielder Anthony Ramos. After stranding a leadoff double by Robert Mier in the top of the third, Bonita struck again in the top of the fourth on a solo home run by catcher Mark Lindsay and a two-run shot by junior Matt Gelalich to go up 5-0. In the bottom of the fourth, Northview finally got on the board behind a solo home run by senior Bryan Urbina.

Matt Gelalich was on his toes all game long, this time right before he hit his two-run homer to put Bonita up 5-0.

In the top of the six with one out, Tuttle homered again to give the Bearcats a 6-1 lead.

“You have to give Tuttle a ton of credit,” Knott said. “He was a bulldog out there, both offensively and on the mound. What can you say! Hopefully, he’s going to be the guy to lead us to a league championship this year.”

With Tuttle cruising and enjoying a five-run cushion, Bonita’s lead would have been insurmountable by most teams not named Northview. Through five-and-one-half innings Bonita had dominated, banging out five home runs against third-year starting pitcher Pedroza, whose record was 15-2 since his sophomore year.

In the bottom of the sixth Tuttle surrendered a pair of walks and a pair of singles, resulting in one run and a trip to the mound by Bonita Coach John Knott, who pulled his tiring starter with one out and called on hard-throwing sophomore Justin Garza to put out the fire. Northview had plenty of fuel for its next fight, however, scoring five more times, including the last two on a hit batter and a wild pitch, to take the lead 7-6. Northview’s rally benefited from three walks.

Matt Gelalich holding his two home run balls. Two years earlier in the same tournament, Matt's brother, now at UCLA playing for the Bruins, also hit two home runs in a tournament game.

Heading into the seventh, Northview now needed just three outs to record another improbable come-from-victory against Bonita, a familiar pattern going back the last three years. But Gelalich changed that recent history with one swing of the bat, launching a long leadoff home run to right to tie the game, 7-7.

And that’s when Bonita saw Garza grow up right before its eyes as the sophomore struck out the side in the bottom of the seventh to force the game into extra innings.

In the top of the eighth, Bonita went quietly, but Northview was surging with momentum. After a leadoff flair single by Tyle Grijalva, Bobby Ramos legged out a bunt, putting runners on first and second and bringing up the dangerous Pedroza, hitting out of the three spot. A base hit would most likely win it for the Vikings. After giving up five home runs and hitting into two double plays, Pedroza appeared more dangerous and determined than ever to make amends on the day. Back in a groove, Pedroza smashed a shot up the middle, a ball that was hit so hard, it caromed off Garza’s leg out into right field. Alertly, Bonita right fielder Kc Huth charged the ball and threw a one-hop strike to home plate where catcher Mark Lindsay corralled the ball and tagged out Grijalva sliding into home. With one out, Knott ordered Garza to give Northview’s Urbina a free pass to load the bases and bring up Xavi Martinez. Garza induced Martinez to ground to Thomas Castro at third who threw home to get the force. Lindsay then whirled and threw to first attempting to complete the 5-2-3 double play but his throw his Martinez flush in the square of the back. Knott argued the runner had left the baseline to interfere with the throw but the plate umpire wasn’t buying it. The dispute became academic, however, after Garza struck out Avila to end the inning. Garza had danced the tightrope and somehow got to other side.

“I think Garza became a junior after that outing,” Knott said. “The first inning, they hit him around a little bit, but he composed himself and he showed a ton of heart.”

In the ninth, both teams went quietly. Then the rain came and the clock ran out hours, minutes and seconds.

How this one game will shape the season won’t be known for weeks or even months, but the play on the field left plenty for both Knott and Northview’s Darren Murphy to dissect.

“It’s an early tournament game, so we’re going to focus on the positive and work on the negatives,” Knott said. “I was proud of our kids’ heart. We came out obviously and swung the bats. While we had a lot of solo homers, we didn’t do much with the execution game. But it was pretty neat to see Matt Gelalich hit a home run at the top of the seventh inning to tie it for us. And I loved the energy we got from Kc Huth in right field to throw the guy out at home with nobody out at the time, which would’ve been the winning run.”

Most of all, Knott loved the valuable lesson his team learned in just its second game of the season.

“Teams like Northview, South Hills, Charter Oaks – teams with rich traditions – aren’t going to disappear at the first sign of adversity,” Knott said. “You can be up 6-0 or 8-0, and they’re going to come back because they have that belief in themselves. They’ve run their programs the right way for a long time, so you know they’re never going to roll over.

“I was proud of our kids, though,” Knott added. “Northview had all the momentum, and it would have been easy for this young group to just fold. But, they said, ‘No,’ we’re going to tie this game.”

And while they fought back to tie Northview, there’s one battle they couldn’t win – the fight against Mother Nature.

Hitting start Robert Mier

On Friday at Henderson Field in Glendora in the first game of the weeklong tournament, the Bonita High School varsity baseball team came out swinging.

And swinging and swinging and swinging en route to a 21-1 victory over Ayala.

In the first two innings, the Bearcats pounded out 13 hits and 13 runs, not a flare, dribbler or Texas leaguer to be found in the Bonita bombardment. Every hit was a laser. Leading the barrage was Robert Mier, who slammed a leadoff home run in the first inning and a grand slam in the second. He finished with 6 RBIs on the day. His replacement, Greg Victoria later ripped a home run in the sixth inning.

“That was my first varsity at bat, so I was a little nervous,” said Mier, who is the cousin of Jio Mier, a Bonita standout who graduated last season and signed with the Houston Astros in the first round of the 2009 Major League Baseball draft. “He threw me all fastballs and I was behind in the count, so I already knew a curve ball was coming. I just sat on it.”

In the second inning, Mier again was patient. “Their pitcher was struggling with the zone a little bit, so that was more me cheating fastball.”

Also enjoying multiple hit games for the Bearcats were Matt Rodriguez, Evan Highley, Thomas Castro, Kc Huth and Justin Garza.

Compounding troubles for Ayala was Bonita junior pitcher Adam McCreery, who surrendered a scratch single and a home run in four innings of work. He pitched with complete command and didn’t walk a single batter.

While LaVerneOnline was searching for words to describe the Bearcats’ opening-season onslaught, Coach John Knott volunteered a few:

“What you can say is, Robert Mier came out hitting a leadoff home run, and that set the tempo right there. And that it was just incredible to see that many well-hit balls, at bat after at bat. Guys had quality at bats, hitting balls the other way.

“Robert had a big day obviously with two home runs, but it was a number of guys. Evan had two well-hit balls, Castro had two well-hit balls, Huth had two well-hit balls, Matt Gelalich had two well-hit balls, and then Greg Victoria comes off the bench and hits a home run. So it was a total team effort. Then Adam McCreery came out and threw strikes. He had No. 1-type stuff.

In all his years playing and coaching had Knott ever seen quite the offensive explosion that he witnessed over the course of the two-hour ballgame?

“At this yard, anything is possible,” he said. “A lot of those home runs would have been doubles. One probably would have been a home run. You just put it in perspective that when you play a tournament game like this. As soon as their starter comes out of the game, who knows what kind of experience we’re going to be facing.

“You have to give credit to the kids that went up there and hit the ball. But what made this so special is normally a team has a really good day and maybe four or five guys hit the ball well. This was everybody. We were patient when their guy was a little wild. We took the walk. We had hard outs. We had tough at bats.

“We were swinging it.”

Barring rain today, the Bearcats face Northview at 11:15 a.m. and their ace Eddie Pedroza, who was 8-2 with a 2.75 ERA last year and is 15-2 since his sophomore season. This matchup will provide the Bearcats another early-season indicator on the depth and quality of their team

Matt Rodriguez in his first season at bat.

Wreath bearers: front, from left, Bryan Zhong, Ariana Abo, Emily Lowrie; back row, from left, Ms. Jan Reck, Timothy Coupland, Joey Halabrin and Elizabeth Velasquez

In early April, about 90 students will be on their way to Washington, D.C. from Ramona Middle School in La Verne, including four students who have been invited to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery.  Eighth grade students Ariana Abo, Joey Halbrin, Elizabeth Velasquez and Bryan Zhong, along with alternates Emily Lowrie and Timothy Coupland, were selected for this high honor based on the winning essays they wrote, addressing why participating in this ceremony was important “to you, to all of us as Americans, and to our Country.”

Here are their essays:

Why I Want to Participate in the Wreath Laying Ceremony

By Ariana Abo

He died before I got to know him. He was a husband, father, uncle, and my grandfather. His name was Franklin Donald Renkvish.

In 1963, when my grandfather was only nineteen-years-old, he was drafted into the United States Army. He was sent to boot camp in Fort Ord, California where he spent six weeks training to become a soldier. Then, he went on to complete military police training in Augusta, Georgia. After graduating and finalizing his training at the “Advance Independent Military Training” as an SPC4, he was assigned to Fort Meyers, Virginia. There, along with his other duties, he had the honor of standing guard at President Kennedy’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery.

Since I never had the chance to get to know my grandfather (he died when I was only six months old), my mother and grandmother have told me many interesting and exciting things about him. Like how my grandfather married my grandmother during his time of service. Since he was stationed in Virginia, they married in California and drove back to Virginia to live for another 2 years.

Telling my grandmother the news about me traveling to Washington D.C. and Arlington, VA, she was thrilled. Knowing that my grandfather felt so honored to guard President Kennedy’s grave, I felt that participating in the wreath laying ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknowns would not only be honoring those buried there, but in some way it would be honoring the memory of grandpa.

Arlington National Cemetery

By Joey Halabrin

Arlington National Cemetery is so much more than a cemetery, it is a dedication to all those who lost their lives for this country. It is also home to Brothers Senator Edward M. Kennedy, Senator Robert F. Kennedy, President John F. Kennedy, and President William Howard Taft. Even more important than the Presidents and dignitaries, 300,000 veterans are buried there, ever since the Civil War. All the different veterans have their own story to tell, it may have been fighting in the Battle of Gettysburg, storming the beach at Normandy, or fighting in Afghanistan today. All the people in the cemetery have one thing in common. They have all proudly served our country, everybody from President John F. Kennedy to soldier Raymond S. Smith.

In the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier there lies 4 soldiers not identified from World War I, World War II, Korea and Vietnam. Even though it rests 4 soldiers, it represents all the men and women who have died in the service for our country but have not been identified ever since 1775. It would mean so much to me to have the honor of laying the wreath because I deeply appreciate the freedoms the soldiers have died for as well as that they have sacrificed everything for the welfare for the people of the United States of America. It would also be an honor because the friends and family that have had to go through their loss of a great person. People must remember that even though at first sight all the tombstones look the same, they all have their own unique story.

Arlington National Cemetery Wreath Laying Application

By Elizabeth Velasquez

On January 3, 1942, a telegram came to my great-grandmother stating that my great-grandfather was “missing in action, presumed dead.” My great-grandfather, C.B. Jennings, served with the allied forces in World War II. He had been severely injured when he was shot in the leg and was moved off of the front line to receive medical treatment. In all of the chaos and confusion of the war, and the lack of technology, his military unit lost track of where he was. My great-grandmother received this awful news while in the hospital, only a few hours after she had given birth to their first child, my grandfather. Thankfully, this information was proven incorrect when my great-grandfather was found receiving medical attention. It is possible, that if my great-grandfather had not survived his injuries and had died on the battlefield, that he would have been “missing, presumed dead” forever.

In 2001, I had the privilege of visiting Arlington National Cemetery with my family. Even though I was only five I was very impressed by the way the military put so much emphasis on the daily honoring of “The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.” The tomb is a place for families to pay their respects to their loved ones who have died fighting for our country. Before DNA testing, there were many soldiers who were unidentifiable because of the disfiguring of their bodies from the battle. Thankfully, through modern technology and testing, we have been able to successfully identify the bodies of the fallen soldiers.

Arlington National Cemetery is important to us as Americans because it is a place where we can honor those who have fallen fighting for our freedom. I would be honored to represent Ramona Middle School to honor the heroes who have paid the ultimate price for my freedom.

Arlington Cemetery

By Bryan Zhong

Where lost heroes lay. Where brave Americans fought in war and died in the act of serving our nation are buried. Arlington Cemetery is the highest honor where fallen comrades may be laid to rest.

Arlington House was originally intended to be a memorial for George Washington, but was established by Brig. Gen. Montgomery C. Meigs, who bought the property and established it into a national cemetery. It was an honor to be buried here, and it still is today.

All the fellow comrades here are deeply respected and comrade-in-arm guards guard it day and night, be it blizzards or droughts, floods or mudslides, hurricanes or earthquakes. It is one of the most sacred memorials in the world and where unidentified soldiers are laid to rest. All who are buried here should be given the highest respect and honor. All of the identified dead soldiers all have a place to call home, but to those who are unidentified; they have no place to call home yet besides their country. Their families don’t know where they could be or if they’re still alive or not. That’s why these are the bravest soldiers to serve their nation; who give it their all, and lose everything in the process. This earns my respect very deeply and touches my heart to the core. I couldn’t bear to lose everything! It would be a huge honor to even be in the Arlington Cemetery, let alone attend the wreath laying for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I believe that whoever should be chosen should not take the sacred honor for granted, that they should feel highly honored to be able to participate in it. That is why I want to be one of those people chosen.

To learn more about the students’ upcoming Washington trip, click on the link below:

(http://www.laverneonline.com/2010/01/28/ramona-middle-school-students-set-their-sights-on-washington-dc-nations-capital-wont-be-the-same/)

Clipboard in hand, Troy Tettleton is ready for the season to start.

During his playing his days at Bonita (2007-2008) where he was a varsity catcher and infielder, JV Coach Troy Tettleton always stood out for his hustling and scrappy style of play. He was a no-nonsense guy in stretch pants, fulfilling whatever role he was asked to play. So when varsity coach John Knott learned he would be available to coach in the spring, he offered “Tett” the job.

The hard worker he is, Tettleton took 20 units last semester at Mt. SAC, so he could devote his full-time coaching talents to his Bonita players this spring. Last spring, Tettleton was a member of the Mounties, but elected to coach at Bonita this spring. In the fall he expects to transfer to either UCLA or Claremont McKenna to pursue a degree in business economics. If he chooses to be a Stag instead of a Bruin, he would join ex-Bonita outfielder Mitchell Pike (2008), who now plays for Claremont.

One aspect of the game Tettleton will be able to share with his players is the commitment needed to excel.

“Playing for Mt. Sac was a lot of fun,” Tettleton said, where Matt Venegas, another Bonita baseball graduate, is a coach. “It was also a lot of work. It’s like the season here, but it’s year-round. You hit the weights in the morning, then you go to class, then you go back to baseball.”

In the off season, Tettleton figured he devoted about 30 hours a week to the game. During the season, the time commitment ratcheted up to about 40 hours a week, equivalent to holding a full-time job, in other words.

“It was pretty tough,” Tettleton said. “When you get home, you really don’t want to do homework. You’re dead after practice. You just have to force yourself to do it.”

It’s a given what kind of force the new coach will be for Bonita.

“At Mt. SAC, I learned a lot and saw how well the practices were organized,” he said, standing on the mound while directing a situational batting practice drill. “It gave me ideas on what I can do with these guys. I’ll try to apply what worked for me when I was coached, and what I can use to help them.”

Just two years from playing for Bonita, Tettleton no doubt will be a player’s coach and at times be mistaken for one of his youthful players. What won’t be misconstrued is what Tettleton will bring to his team.

“I’ve been telling them that obviously I don’t know everything about baseball, but I do most likely more than them and that I’m here to help,” said Tettleton. “I’m here for them, so when I do get on them for doing something wrong, they’ll know it’s because I’m trying to help them out.”

Another Bonita baseball alum, Cory Hare, had been helping out Tettleton until last week before enlisting in the Marine reserves. Hare’s role will now be filled by Darren Baumunk, the varsity girls’ basketball coach who just wrapped up one of the most successful seasons in Bonita basketball lore.

For now, Tettleton’s carrying 14 players on his roster. Asked how the team looks before the start of pre-league play, Tettleton said, “There have been surprises both good and bad. Overall though, I know each player wants to compete.”

Sounds like the tag that was used to describe Tettleon’s play: “A competitor from the first pitch to the last.”

 As you stare with either envy or open-mouthed wonder at the picture of the beautiful girl above (depending on if you are a woman or a man), I am pleased to announce that this week’s forgotten old film that we need to explore and examine and otherwise obsess over is called “Don’t Make Waves”.   It came out n 1967, stars Tony Curtis, and is directed by Alexander Mackendrick.

      I shall break down my review into two parts.  

      Part one shall deal with all the wild and wonderfully quirky ingredients that make this screwball beach comedy the kind of delicious B-movie gem that when you wake up woozy on a Saturday morning and you’re not quite ready to get out of bed you are absolutely thrilled to click on the tube and find it right there in front of you.   Part two shall deal with what sets this movie apart.

      Part one.   First of all, the star.   Tony Curtis—once termed the “American Prince”—is probably one of the most underrated and underappreciated A-list movie stars of his era.   Handsome and talented, Curtis was equally adept at drama or comedy.   With regard to the former, a mere sampling of the movies he starred or co-starred in reads like a list of the best movies of the 50s and 60s: “Spartacus”, “The Defiant Ones”, “Trapeze” (opposite the great Burt Lancaster), “Sweet Smell Of Success” (again opposite Lancaster and, as with “Don’t Make Waves”, directed by the versatile Mackendrick) and “The Boston Strangler”.   As for his comedies, I recommend “The Perfect Furlough” (with his wife at the time, Janet Leigh), “Operation Petticoat”, and two fantastic screen romps he did with Natalie Wood; “The Great Race” and ”Sex and the Single Girl”.   The man is a national treasure.  

      “Don’t Make Waves” also stars the gorgeous Claudia Cardinale, an Italian comedienne in one of her few U.S. roles, Robert Webber (that fine character actor whose name you can never come up with in “Twelve Angry Men, “10”, and “The Dirty Dozen”) is brilliant as kept-woman Cardinale’s “patron” who tries to keep her locked discreetly away in his beach house and far away from his suspicious wife (Joanna Barnes) and her armada of private detectives, famed ventriloquist Edgar Bergen has a plum role as an astrological advice columnist called Madame Lavinia, Jim Backus plays himself and even does a few lines of his immortal Mr. Magoo for us, and finally Mort Sahl, the revolutionary, politically driven stand-up comic of that era, doesn’t let the small bit-part he’s playing keep him from delivering a quick burst of political satire (“It’s a bomb shelter.   I started digging it during the Eisenhower administration, I stopped digging it during the Kennedy administration, and now I’m wondering if it’s big enough.”).   Even the music is a treat.   The title song is performed by The Byrds, one of the best rock bands of the 60s.   Believe me, if you wake up and flip on the tube and “Don’t Make Waves” happens to be on, just thank your lucky stars, as Madame Lavinia would say.   Other wise you’ll need to buy it on Amazon.com or rent it at Blockbuster.

      Now for Part Two.

      Which is where this review shifts from spirited to somber.

      Because with everything else it has going for it, “Don’t Make Waves” is a film that is virtually dominated by the luminous presence of Sharon Tate.   For all the right and wrong reasons.

      The wrong reason is obvious.   Tate will always be remembered, sadly and unfairly, as the beautiful and pregnant young woman who was butchered along with four of her friends on the night of August 9^th, 1969, by crazed followers of one of the two most famous murderers in California history, Charles Manson.   Sadly, there is no getting away from that.  

      The unfair part is that in 1969 Tate was a young starlet on the verge of true screen stardom.

      “Don’t Make Waves” was Tate’s coming-out party.   It wasn’t the first film she’d been in, she’d had a couple of uncredited parts and had recently had speaking roles in a couple others, but this was the first film ever actually released in theaters with her name on it; therefore, in the opening credits,  she was advertised thusly: INTRODUCING SHARON TATE.   And speaking of advertising, the studio (MGM) made her the focal point of all its promotions.   Tony Curtis must have wondered if he was even in a Tony Curtis movie.   For instance the studio had life-sized cardboard cut-outs of the golden-skinned Tate, wearing a bikini, propped up in the foyer entrance of any and all the theaters “Don’t Make Waves” was playing at throughout the United States—an extraordinary amount of advertising attention for any studio to in effect wager on an unknown actress.   Part of it was that Tate had just done a big ad campaign for Coppertone, the suntan lotion people, and MGM wanted to capitalize on that too.   The other part of it is that this was, after all, a “beach” movie, and so the studio made sure to present their beachiest asset, Tate, in as many provocative and scantily clad situations as possible; surfing, sunning, skydiving, jumping on a trampoline, and of course in the bedroom, sitting on the bed and watching TV naked while eating potato chips, with a confused and slightly aging Curtis wondering if maybe he wasn’t in over his head.  

      Remember the famous “Malibu Barbie” doll?   It was based on her, in this movie (Her character’s name was Malibu.).   And like a doll she hardly ever speaks.   Perhaps no actress in history has ever had a smaller ratio of words spoken in a movie to the number of scenes she appears in.  

      But make no mistake, Tate’s performance was terrific.   Well, maybe not terrific, but at least pretty good.   I admit she was still a long way from a Hepburn or a Garbo.   But she did a fine job, showing a definite flair for understated comedy.   The nonchalant, dead-pan way she plays the beach bunny stereotype absolutely works.   And the more unaware of her beauty she acts, the more dazzlingly beautiful she gets.

      Tate followed up her success in “Don’t Make Waves” with “Valley Of The Dolls”, a movie so bad that it is actually pretty good.   Okay, it was bad.   About the only award “Valley Of The Dolls” won was a Golden Globe for Most Promising Newcomer, Female….Sharon Tate.   She was on her way.

      All of that was snuffed out on August 9^th, 1969.

      What might have been.    What might have been.

**********

Brad Eastland, our Dr. of Ancient Filmology, is a movie buff and film historian, as long as the film was made before 1985 or so.  (If you want to hear about new-release films, pick up a Times).   Special effects and gratuitous anything have no place in his celluloid world.   Primarily a fiction writer, Brad has written four novels and over 20 short-stories.  Here are some samples of his best work:
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/gamble/gamble.html
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/basket/basket.html
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/freebies/freebies.html

I got a very interesting email the other day about the Winter Olympics from one James R. Owen, currently of Arlington, Virginia and—as am I—formerly of Washington County, Iowa.   Jimmy is both a lifelong friend and a loyal LaVerne OnLine devotee.   He works in media relations these days, but many years ago he was a newsman himself, a reporter, a member in good standing of the Fourth Estate; but alas his career in journalism tragically ended.   It ended right around the time I revealed to him that—in general—a couple days after anything a reporter writes it becomes, by definition, irrelevant and fleeting.   Old news.   Fishwrap.   Soon after, Jimmy put down his blue pencil and quit the journalism game for good.

      (Incidentally, when I say journalism is fishwrap, naturally I’m not referring to myself.   I mean Good Lord, of course I wasn’t referring to anything potentially lasting or genuinely transcendent penned by your friendly neighborhood Sports Philosopher!   I’m perfectly aware that all journalism isn’t fishwrap.   Just journalism written by, you know, other people.   Just to be clear.)

      Anyway, friend Jimmy’s email centered around a column he’d read recently by a guy called David Plotz, detailing why the United States should boycott the Winter Olympics.   The original article was written over eight years ago, on the eve of the 2002 Winter Games, but was reprinted, apparently, in the hope that said boycott (which friend Jimmy indicated he himself would cheerfully support) might finally be realized eight years later, i.e. this year, at the recently completed 2010 Vancouver Games.   (Can you say O’ No, Canada?).   I guess you could say that my oldest friend holds a decidedly non-fishwrap view of Mr. Plotz’ talents.  

      Mr. Plotz’s various arguments were, 1) that the Winter Olympics were “an embarrassment to sports”, 2) that most winter sports fell somewhere between incomprehensible and boring, 3) that the incomprehensible “sport” of Curling falls somewhere between bad shuffleboard and compulsively anal housekeeping, 4) that it is bad television, 5) that events such as downhill skiing, luge, and bobsled are not so much “sports” as they are “gravity” (okay, that one’s pretty funny), 6) nobody watches, and 7) the United States, historically, is just no damn good at these boring, incomprehensible, gravity-based bursts of snowy falderal so why embarrass the whole country by showing up.   Wow.

      I responded to Jimmy’s email affirming that I, too, wasn’t that big of a fan of the Winter Olympics, that I am more of a traditional football/baseball/basketball kinda guy, and that Mr. Plotz’ literary style was, admittedly, as humorous as his last name.   At least in a fleeting, fishwrappy way.

      But then, as time oozed by, I began to apply the whetstone of what my late mother (an admittedly biased old gal) once termed my fine mind against the grindstone of the problem.   The problem being that the Plotzman’s words were suddenly not hitting me quite right.

      Because they are no longer true.   (Except the Curling thing, of course.)

      The 2010 Winter Olympics were a rousing success.   People watched.   The TV ratings figures confirm this.   Also, by way of further proof, people kept calling me about it all during the first week, my brother, my sister, my girlfriend, my 13-year-old son, etc., “Are you watching the Olympics?  Are you watching the Olympics?”   It became tiresome.   So I started watching.

      What I saw startled me.   For one thing, the United States was far from no damn good at winter sports!   We actually won the medals race.   By a mile.   It was the first time since 1932 that the U.S. has topped the medals standings, the only other time we’d ever done it.   We also broke the record for most medals ever won at a Winter Olympics by any country.   Gadzooks!   We are the suddenly kings of the tundra!

      Secondly, there were transcendent performances.   South Korean figure skater Kim Whatever-the- heck-her-name-is notched the highest score in that event ever.   There was also that Canadian skater who courageously participated—and medaled—right after her mom died.   What about that Netherlands bobsledder who got so scared he pulled out of the competition before he ever even climbed into that particular death tube?  (Bobsledding might be “gravity”, Plotzie, but any sport that is so scary that one of the best at it in the whole world up and quits out of flat-out, stomach-souring, Hershey-squirts-inducing fear is, I don’t know, something; at least something worthy of a shout-out from the Sports Philosopher.).   There was one 18-mile cross-country ski race that ended in a photo finish, and the Polish girl wound up winning over the Japanese girl by two feet!   After 18 miles!   Long live Poland!   Americans Lindsay Vonn (skier) and Apolo Ohno (short-track speed skater) became instant heroes.   And then there is the redoubtable Shaun White.

      This is where the Winter Olympics has done the rarest thing a sport can do.   Improve.   Evolve.   It’s the newer sports that did it.   Snowboarding is fairly new, is evolving daily, and it comes straight from the street, a la skateboarding, something the kids can relate to.   My own kid, an ex-skateboarder, can easily relate to Shaun White and his shaggy hair and goofy grin.   White won the “halfpipe” gold medal again, just like he did four years ago.   What he does in the air is breathtaking, not boring, not incomprehensible, and not gravity.   In fact, what he does is the very definition of defying gravity.   Did you see him?   I bet you did.  

      And that’s the point.

      The other new event, even newer than snowboarding and halfpipe and all that stuff, is the “ski cross”.   What a great idea!   Skiers racing against each other!   Motocross on skis!   I found it incredibly exciting.   The only thing missing was the track announcer.   I bet next Olympics they sign Santa Anita’s peerless announcer Trevor Denman to call the races, and take what is already suddenly the Winter Olympics’ most exciting event to an even loftier level of showmanship.

      Finally I thought—indeed I fairly mused the way any philosopher would—how can we apply what the evolution of the Winter Olympics has taught us?   How can we evolve football, basketball, and even that most grand and traditional and indeed sacred of all mainstream sports, baseball, evolve them in a way that enhances them and improves them rather than bogging them down with changes for changes’ sake?

      I have a few ideas.   Just to get the ball rolling.

      Football.   Easy enough.   Anyone who knows me knows my biggest football pet peeve is wide receivers who celebrate a touchdown—or even a simple first down—by wildly gesticulating and thrusting their pelvis and hips around and upward in lewd, sarcastic spasms, as if Peace had just been declared or as though they had just reached a whole new threshold of orgasm.   You know.   The so-called end-zone celebration dance.   It’s not what our fathers taught us, people, so let’s get it the hell out of football.   Currently, the most you get for even the most flagrantly embarrassing act of total self-aggrandizement is a 15-yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty to be enforced on the following kickoff.   This is a comically light, thoroughly candy-ass punishment my friends.   And it’s why head coaches invariably look the other way when one of their star wide-outs—who has just scored a touchdown for that coach, mind you—loses his mind and dignity.   I say make it a 15-yard penalty on each of the next two kickoffs, not merely the subsequent one.   If the offending team doesn’t score the rest of that game, the second 15-yard penalty carries over to the next game.   Oh, and I would insist on an automatic ejection for the celebrant.   Don’t bother to fine the guy; they’re too damn wealthy for that.   Just penalize the team he plays for by sending him to the showers.   I guarantee you, coaches aren’t stupid.   They know when a guy is hurting the team more than helping it.   And then, only then, they would finally impose their will.   This blight on the Human Condition would immediately disappear from the game.

      Basketball.   Again, no problem.   I don’t know about you, but I get pretty sick of watching NBA players carry the ball over (i.e. “palming”) on virtually every possession and get away with travelling as if the referees have been bought off.   In college ball, if a player so much as looks like he’s even thinking about palming the ball on the dribble he gets whistled.   And travelling is treated as blasphemy.   Its always whistled.   So here’s my idea for the pros: If you either carry it over or travel, the other team’s best free-thrower gets two charity tosses and then they also get to take the ball out.   I guarantee you, within a week these fine athletes will be playing the game properly again, and the referees might begin to not only appear relevant again, but also be looked upon, for a change, as something other than what my late brother labeled all pro sports officials; i.e. “The lowest form of Human life….”

      Finally, baseball.   This one is trickier.   If I screw up football or basketball I can live with it, but baseball is about as close to religion as I get, so I have to be careful in what I recommend, lest the baseball gods foist their collective wrath upon me. 

      Here’s what I’ve come up with.  

      Probably the casual fan’s biggest complaint about baseball is that it takes too long for anything to happen.   No urgency.   In other words, it’s too often boring.   And since the essence of baseball is the dual between the pitcher and the batter, that’s where my recommendation for evolution must lie.   Therefore, the pitcher shall be given a hard, no-nonsense, strictly enforced 12-second count.   This could work.   Remember, in pro basketball there was no 24-second clock until 1954 or 1955, and that innovation has worked out pretty well, huh?   If the pitcher does not throw the ball plateward within 12 seconds the umpire will call a ball.   Talk about an incentive.   Pitchers hate falling behind in the count.   The count is everything in baseball.  (By the way, somebody be sure to remind me someday soon to write a column about the inherent difficulties and amusements involved in teaching women about the count.   It’s not sexist, it’s just part of our culture.   Don’t kill the messenger.   It’s going to be funny, I promise.)   By the way, the batter is not exempt in the scenario.   If he steps out of the batter’s box once, the pitcher gets a new 12-second count.   If he steps out twice, a strike shall be assessed against him.   If he steps out a third time, he’s out.   Don’t you think these changes would bring a certain sense of urgency to every at-bat?

      There are still a few details yet to be ironed out.   But I’m on it.

Brad Eastland

meet….The Sports Philosopher

Brad Eastland is an author, historian, film buff, Olympic theorist, and sports nut, in no particular order.   Brad’s other recent columns for LaVerneOnline can be found in Sports under ‘The Sports Philosopher’ and also in Viewpoint under ‘Brad Eastland’s View’.    Brad has also written four novels and over 20 short-stories.    Samples of his best fiction work can be discovered within the links below :
 
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/gamble/gamble.html
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/basket/basket.html
http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/freebies/freebies.html

Father Damien

It’s not every day a human being is made a saint, and equally rare when a film about a saint is made.

Yet, last year, both events occurred. On Oct. 11, 2009, Father Damien de Veuster was canonized in Vatican City, and more than 6,000 miles back in La Verne, Calif., filmmaker Jennifer Hoge was putting the finishing touches on her 46-minute masterpiece, “Damien Making a Difference, God Making a Saint,” which has already won two awards.

Damien’s story is fairly well known around the world. In the second half of the 19th century, Father Damien, at the age of 33, traveled to Molokai to serve the islanders suffering from leprosy. Volunteering for this ministry was tantamount to a death sentence, given there was no treatment for Hansen’s disease at the time.

Hoge’s story is more obscure. As the owner of Premier Image Productions in La Verne, she typically makes documentaries, corporate promos for YouTube, fundraising videos and nonprofit company profiles. Director James Cameron, she is not. Her budget for a filmmaking project is more likely to have two or three zeroes attached to it, not the six or more that Cameron’s Avatar cost to produce.

Early in 2009, like most practicing Catholics, Hoge was aware of Damien’s approaching sainthood. It was about that same time that Father Michael Barry, SS., CC., for whom she had produced a video lecture series, casually mentioned that he had an idea for making a video about Father Damien. She didn’t think much more about it until she ran into the priest again, about six weeks before Fr. Damien’s canonization.

Filmmaker Jennifer Hoge

“How’s my video coming along?” he asked expectantly.

“I about died in my chair,” said Hoge, recalling the sudden panic she felt upon realizing that Father Barry thought the project was already well underway.

Outside of Barry’s mentioning that the video be about “the touch of God,” she had been given little guidance or direction. Besides now needing a miracle, she needed a script, actors, rights to photographs and documents and a production schedule to make the October 11 deadline.

“If I was going to do it, I was going to do it right,” said Jennifer, a University of La Verne broadcasting graduate. While she had worked on “The Young and the Restless” soap opera and as both an entertainment project planner and coordinator for film shoots at Disneyland before going into business for herself, she had never faced such an impossible deadline.

While time was not her friend, she quickly found some key people who were. One was Damien High School’s Father Peadar Cronin, who had been collecting testimonials on Father Damien. Equally valuable, she heard about a small museum in Honolulu, Hawaii (The Damiaan Center & Damiaan Museum Leuven), which boasted a rich repository of photographs, artifacts and other memorabilia collected from the priest’s life and dedicated to his legacy.

The priest responsible for overseeing the museum actually knew Hoge’s mom, Stephany Reh, who is a lay member of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, the same Congregation to which Holy Name of Mary and Damien High School belong and Father Damien himself was a member.

Having finally gathered what she needed — copies of photographs, texts and letters translated from 17 different languages, and an outline her mother wrote based on her readings about Damien — Hoge pounded out a 46-minute script over two days.

“It was amazing what happened,” Hoge recalled. “We took his writings, we wrote narration, it just started flowing.”

A native suffering from Hansen's disease.

In her video, she scripted segments in which Father Barry and Father Martin O’ Laoghlen, SS.CC., would address various aspects of Damien’s life, but their responses reflected more deeply on the meaning of Catholicism and Damien’s calling to the priesthood. On the day Hoge was shooting, Father John Roche, SS.CC., also happened to be at Holy Name of Mary church in San Dimas. After overhearing him talk about the ravaging effects of leprosy, she wanted to hear more from this serendipitous visitor, whose appearance she saw as divine intervention.

“He said he had been totally influenced by Father Damien,” Hoge recalled. “He had read a book about Damien when he was 7-years-old, and knew then that he wanted to be a priest. Like Damien, he didn’t want to be a parish priest. He wanted to be out with the lepers, so he went to India to become a paramedic for leprosy.

“At this point, the touch of God that Father Barry had suggested became very apparent to me,” Hoge said. “I knew at that moment what he meant. While Damien had dedicated himself to making a difference, God was making a saint.”

God was also, it seemed, busy transforming Hoge, who had suffered her own recent personal losses, into a more devout believer. She saw the example of Damien’s life shining on her own.

“God wanted all these other events to happen around Damien,” Hoge said, the enthusiasm welling up in her voice. “Damien accepted them with total abandonment. He thought he was going to Molokai for three months, and when he gets there, the bishop tells him he has to stay on the island for the rest of his life … that he could never return to the mainland, that the government wouldn’t let him leave.”

In the video, the narrator shares how lepers were pushed off boats and left to swim to shore. If they drowned, so be it, they were going to die anyway.

In her heart, Hoge knew that she needed a unique voice to bring Father Damien’s amazing story and testimony to life. Father Barry said he could call an old friend, actor and comedian Tom Wilson, best known for his role as Biff Tannen in the “Back to the Future Trilogy.” Not long after, she learned Wilson wanted to be part of her project.

Tom Wilson in studio, photographed by Courtney Droke for La Verne Magazine.

Everything was falling into place, as if a higher authority were now sitting in her director’s chair. That presence is still being felt.

“Damien Making a Difference, God Making a Saint” recently received an Award of Merit in filmmaking from the “Accolade” competition and a “Big Kahuna” from the Hawaii Film Festival. Hoge will also be in Honolulu on April 25 to premiere her film, where it is in the running for other top honors. The viewing audience will help determine the top award winners.

No doubt the film will impact all who see it. It has already irrevocably changed how Hoge views her own life and her unique relationship with Catholicism.

“Prior to making the film, all these things had been happening in my own life, when it just hit me,” she said. “This was all supposed to happen. I was supposed to be the one to tell Damien’s story. I was supposed to be the one to write it and to shoot it and to edit it.”

The hard work of writing, directing and producing “Damien Making a Difference, God Making a Saint” behind her now, she is now moving on to other projects, mindful of that earthly saying “That God helps those that help themselves.”

Touched by God, she is touching an increasing number of clients with her unique video journalistic style and artistic cinematography. Whatever world she is working in – corporate, nonprofit or the world of the saints — she continues to answer her calling in more ways than one.

To view samples of her recent productions, visit www.premierimageprod.com

Bonita's Brianna Kennedy, just a sophomore, had 10 points and seven rebounds.

Sometimes, there’s no substitute for experience and senior leadership, and those traits were on display in spades Saturday night in Las Flores, Calif., where the Santa Margarita Eagles defeated the younger Bonita Bearcats 57-43 in the CIF Southern Section Division 3A semifinals.

Eagles seniors Madison McKenney (Cal State Bakersfield), Melissa Zornig (UC Santa Barbara), Denise Fernandez and Elize Lorenz played bruising, in-your-face-defense for a full 32 minutes, a withering, physical style of play that curtailed Bonita’s customary offensive output. Bonita was down 5-0 and committed four turnovers before Taylor Anderson’s short jumper finally got the Bearcats on the board.

To Bonita’s credit, the lady Bearcats settled down and fought back to trail by a single point, 12-11, after Madison Zylstra’s jumper, part of a 5-0 run to finish the first quarter. Anderson finished the period with 8 first-quarter points.

At the start of the second quarter, another hoop by Anderson gave Bonita its first lead, 13-12, and then the junior Bonita guard dished out a beautiful assist to center Brianna Kennedy to help the Bearcats go up 15-12. A spin move under the basket by the Eagles’ Lorenz finally snapped Bonita’s 9-0 run.

The two teams began trading baskets, but after a free throw by Anderson put Bonita back on top, 19-18, Santa Margarita finished the half with a 7-0 run of its own to head into the locker room, leading 25-19.

In the third quarter, the Eagles expanded their lead to 37-25, with Zornig’s 7 points and Fernandez’s 4 points making the difference. On defense, the Eagles picked up Bonita’s guards high above the 3-point arc based on their scouting reports showing Bonita picking apart teams with their outside shooting. Their coach Matt Houser admitted he preferred playing a swarming, attack-style defense at the risk of foul trouble rather than letting Bonita dictate the game’s offensive rhythm.

“We knew they were a great 3-point shooting team,” Houser said. “We knew No. 21 (Anderson) was good at breaking the defense down and kicking out. We watched the Palos Verdes game, and they just let them have wide-open shots. Today, we stayed in a man-to-man defense, where have to prove you can take the person one-on-one off the dribble and not give up a wide-open three. We paid for that a little bit, because we got into foul trouble here and there, but again, it took them out of their style of game, which is the 3-point shot. So they had to look in the inside or off the dribble, and they had a tough time with that.”

McKenney, the Eagles’ tenacious 5-foot-five defender fouled out with 5:22 left in the fourth quarter and Santa Margarita leading 41-29. It was thought her premature exit might leave the door ajar for a Bonita comeback, but the Eagles didn’t skip a beat after her departure. Bonita shaved the lead to 48-39 with 2:09 left, but could get no closer.

“Again, it comes down to the seniors,” Hauser said. “They’ve been through this time and time again. Last year, they were at Tesoro and lost. They did not want to lose again. Bonita would catch up, but then you would see the execution of our seniors. Our girls would come down and hit a huge shot and then they’d play great defense on the other end to keep that lead. It just wears on a team that’s fighting to come back.”

After McKenney fouled out, the game became a showcase for Zornig who finished with a game-high 25 point to go with her 10 steals.

“She came to play,” Hauser said, “and that’s the true sign of a great player. She plays both ends of the court. She set up our other players, as well.

Hauser added that his team’s physical posture stems from playing tough opponents all season.

“The Trinity league is the No. 1 league in the nation,” he said. “When we go up against Mater Dei twice, Orange Lutheran twice, Rosary twice, every single game is a battle. They’re all ranked, all great teams. When you play the nation’s No. 1 team twice in a year, it just prepares for games like this.”

Bonita Coach Darren Baumunk was gracious in defeat after leading Bonita (25-5) to a fabulous season.

“They just put up a lot of pressure,” Baumunk said. “They didn’t allow us to do anything. They were all over each one of our players. It was hard for anyone to get open. They didn’t allow any of our shooters to shoot. They took our three-point shooters away.”

Bonita flashed its running game at times, but Santa Margarita kept throttling it back.

“We couldn’t run enough, and I think that was difference,” Baumunk said. “We couldn’t attack and run and run and run.

“You have to give them credit; they’re heck of a ball club.”

What does Bonita take away from the loss?

“We’ll have a lot of experience, that’s for sure,” Baumunk said. “We’re going to miss our three seniors (Lauren Hastings, Ariana Domasin and Alejandra Garay), but we have a good group of kids coming back.

“I told our girls right here, that next year is going to be our turn. We’re going to get to the finals and make something happen.”

The Church wishes to thank everyone for their gifts of food to the Inland Valley Hope Partners food pantry and encourages the community to keep them coming.

St. John’s Episcopal asks the community during this holy season to join the church in reflecting on spiritual journeys and prepare for the joy of Easter.

St. John’s Episcopal is located at 4745 Wheeler Avenue, La Verne, CA 91750; 909.596.1321; www.stjohnslaverne.org; office@stjohnslaverne.org