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Davis Young
- Jul 13, 2021

DY: In Just a Few Words (#39)

Just another Saturday night...

About 30 blogs ago, I posted a story about my father and his love for the United States Military Academy. That probably inspired more reaction than any other blog. Today, I want you to meet my mother.

She was by any definition a solid citizen. But, she was also a real character and she had a tremendous sense of humor. She loved to laugh. She was always happy to laugh at herself. And she delighted in the reaction of others to what came out of her mouth.

I knew her well up to my 18th birthday, and then again starting in 1985 - when she moved to Cleveland and was a huge part of my life until she passed in 2001 at age 94. In the intervening years she had continued to live in her nice home in New Jersey while I was two states away in Ohio.

There are many anecdotes about my mother. Here is one. Others will follow in future blogs.

Have you ever been in an emergency room on Saturday night? It’s like medical rush hour. Gunshot wounds. Stabbings. Car accidents fueled by alcohol. Injuries from fights. Lots of noise. And, into the midst of that one Saturday night arrived my mother, then well into her 80s.

Taking a medical history is standard procedure in any emergency room. She proudly gave her history. But since the only thing that separates you from other patients and their concerned family members are thin sheets of cloth, everyone hears everything. If you have a medical secret or otherwise crave privacy, Saturday night at your local emergency room is not the place for you. There are no secrets in the ER.

Good patient that she was, my mother answered every question truthfully. I had my appendix taken out when I was about 11. My tonsils were next a few years later. I broke a finger in 1956. And then most recently, I got AIDS.

That entire emergency room came to a grinding halt. Total silence reigned. As her son, I was mortified. You can just imagine the shock value of an elderly woman saying that. Nobody said a word until she spoke again. No, no. That was a mistake. I meant to say Shingles.

The night she went public (albeit briefly) by disclosing her AIDS diagnosis remains one of the most telling examples ever of my unpredictable and interesting mother. I will never, ever forget that moment. Neither will the others who were in the ER with us that night.

It has been said that words matter and we should choose them wisely. Last I checked, there was a difference between AIDS and Shingles. If your mother fesses up she has AIDS, it’s likely it was just a slip of the tongue. Chances are she has Shingles.

DY: In Just a Few Words is a blog that comes out when something needs to be said or every Tuesday - whichever comes first. Davis Young is a communications professional who adds 50+ years of experience and perspective to issues of the day. His emphasis in DY: In Just a Few Words will be humor (a touch of sarcasm here, a pinch of facetiousness there...). Once in a while, he will touch on something a bit more serious - but hopefully not too deep or depressing.

This blog is a product of DY Author & Speaker LLC. Feel free to quote content with attribution. Respond. Agree. Disagree. Share the content with your friends. Heck - even invite him as a speaker for your group! Enjoy!

Davis Young
- Jul 6, 2021

DY: In Just a Few Words (#38)

Sure wish I had saved those clubs...

Last week’s blog celebrated the July 4th anniversary of American independence. I hope you joined me in remembering that date. A centerpiece of that blog was an introduction to Princeton Battlefield State Park, site of a significant battle for our independence.

Now, we are back to the park again to engage with targets other than British soldiers. The targets in my day were a tree here, a flag pole there. My weapon was a golf club and the ammunition was golf balls. There was never a place better to hone links skills than Princeton Battlefield State Park.

If you read last week’s blog, you know I spent some of my formative years in the shadows of that battlefield, living just about five houses down the street. In the 1950s, Princeton Battlefield State Park was basically a big playground for me. Acres and acres of grass on both sides of Mercer Road just beckoning me to come play every day.

During this time, I became the proud owner of a partial set of very old golf clubs that had been hidden away in a corner of my grandfather’s garage. Today, these vintage clubs might have value. In those days, they were rusty club heads on hickory wood shafts.

Princeton Battlefield State Park and those ancient golf clubs were my introduction as a 13-year-old boy to a truly nice man by the name of Tom Moore, whose age at that time was probably 50 (give or take a little). Tom was a taxi cab owner who loved to hit golf balls. He was African-American and his opportunities to play on a real golf course in those days were limited to say the least. But, wow, could he ever hit that ball.

Tom had the smoothest swing I have ever seen. It was like a metronome. He was a student of the game. I know he could have been a club champion many times over. I also know that because of his skin color, there were no clubs that would have welcomed him as a member then or even much later.

After a day of dropping off commuters at the local train station, Tom would come many summer evenings to hit balls at the park. And, I would join him there. He would pick a target and I would shag the balls for him. When he was done, it was my turn. Under his guidance, I would learn the proper grip. He was the first to impress upon me that swinging hard and fast is not the way to play golf. He taught me the joy of a game I play to this day, and I remain deeply in his debt for that.

My game has been in a temporary slump for a fairly long time now - perhaps something approximating 30 years, maybe even a bit longer. As I struggle with an ever-increasing case of the yips, I am reminded of this statement by some long ago golfer: “Just once, I’d like to play my regular game.”

These days, my regular game stinks. But, I have wonderful memories of Tom Moore and his willingness to give of his time to help a young boy learn something about a great game.

Davis Young
- Jun 29, 2021

DY: In Just a Few Words (#37)

George Washington's battlefield was my childhood playground.

Next Sunday Americans will celebrate 245 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence. There is no better time than that to reflect on our Revolutionary War.

One of the most famous symbols of this conflict is a painting known as Washington Crossing the Delaware. That event occurred just north of the city of Trenton, New Jersey, on Christmas night of 1776. In and around what is today the city of Trenton there were three significant Revolutionary War battles - the Battle of Trenton (December 26, 1776), the Battle of Assunpink Creek (January 2, 1777) and the Battle of Princeton (January 3, 1777). These are often cited by historians as the 10 Crucial Days that turned the war in favor of the Colonials. The Battle of Princeton is of particular interest to me as that’s where I spent some of my growing-up years.

Less than two miles from the center of Princeton, there is a large public space that is the Princeton Battlefield State Park. This is an important historic site as General George Washington and his troops prevailed over British Regulars who were trying to maintain control of colonial insurgents seeking independence. The Battle of Princeton is an important marker of the American Revolution and all that it stands for.

Today, this beautiful and peaceful park continues on, but it was once a wooded area and the site of a major military operation with lots of gunfire and casualties. As a boy, I spent several years living in the literal shadows of that battlefield on Mercer Road (named for General Hugh Mercer, who was mortally wounded in that battle). The park, at that time, was basically a multi-acre grass area on both sides of Mercer Road featuring a really tall flagpole at its highest point and the famed Mercer Oak in the middle.

In addition to crossing the Delaware, General Washington’s troops also crossed Stony Brook, which is just a few hundred yards to the west of the Princeton Battlefield site. I spent hundreds and perhaps thousands of hours fishing in Stony Brook - often just on the other side of the road from a Quaker Meeting House, built in 1726. Richard Stockton, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, is buried there.

Growing up, I was literally surrounded by reminders of American history. As July 4 is now only a few days away, it gives me pause to reflect again on how fortunate I am to have spent formative years in such an historic area. And, how fortunate I am to be an American.

The preamble to the Declaration of Independence contains these powerful words: We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights that among those are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. We still have work to do if we are to bring those words to life. I will reflect on that July 4.

My blog next week will take a different and surprising look at the Princeton Battlefield State Park. Stay tuned.

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