BRIAN LIBBY

Grandpa's hats

Last week when I was in Eugene for a reading, I stopped by to see my grandma, who wanted me to pick out some of my grandpa's clothes to take home (he passed away several weeks ago). I'm not very fond of wearing hats, and really only do so for sun protection while I'm walking. But I love collecting objects with special personal meaning, and I'm very glad to have the four or five hats I picked up of Grandpa's.

One of the hats I actually got on the day of his graveside service. The family had met at Grandma's house to drive there together, and it was sunnier than expected. I'd forgotten to bring a hat, and even if I'd remembered, it's not like I was gonna wear one of my baseball caps with a suit during my grandfather's funeral. (He got the most impressive 21-gun military salute and flag-draped coffin for his WWII service.) I'm reminded of a "Sopranos" episode when Tony approached another diner in that friend's Italian restaurant they always go to because the diner was wearing a cap at the table. "They took the bleachers out two years ago," Tony told him, veins popping out of his head with agitation. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one with that pet-peeve. But luckily Grandma let me wear an old houndstooth-fedora of Grandpa's that went well with the suit and saved my scalp from sunburn.

Another fedora I took home the other day was even snazzier although thinner and more worn. It had a little feather built into one side of the brim. I love to imagine how he must have looked in it. Grandpa wasn't usually a flashy dresser - he favored short sleeves for his oxford shirts, like a NASA engineer at Mission Control. But these were different times, and the average man walking down the street was sporting a suit and hat that would seem like the height of dress-up today. Back when I was working at temp agencies in DC and New York in the early/mid-90s, I got really sick of having an uncomfortable tie, shirt, slacks and loafers on. But when I see a guy wearing jeans and a Cosby sweater to the symphony, I'm almost ready to pull a Tony moment of my own.

  That said, I also took three baseball caps of Grandpa's. One I'd never seen before, but I loved the vintage-style graphics of "Hawaii" written in cursive like the name of a little league team. Another had a white foam front with a drawing of a woodpecker. Who wears a baseball hat with a drawing of a woodpecker? I do remember it hanging on Grandpa and Grandma's hallway hat rack for many a decade, though.

Same goes for a Nebraska Cornhuskers cap I took home that I remember Grandpa wearing a time or two. No matter how much my dad and I worshiped the Oregon Ducks, Grandpa was never that into football or other sports. But since he was born and raised in a small Nebraska town, this cap remained in the house as various TVs, dining room tables and chairs were changed in and out.

Incidentally, it only now just occurred to me that all these caps are red and white. Must be kind of like how about two-thirds of my wardrobe is blue.

The hat of Grandpa's that I've actually worn regularly is a more casual brimmed job, kind of like Gilligan wore on Gilligan's Island. Or perhaps it's actually more like Truman Capote's. Anyway, it's perfect for wearing on my summertime walks, covering my ears and my neck better than the standard baseball cap. I also dig the brown and orange stripes going around the hat. I was actually about to order a similar one from the J.Crew sale catalog when Grandma gave me this one. Who knew Grandpa had such style? I loved the guy, but I was more used to a pocket protector and polyester pants. I'd love to have known the younger man in the fedora, or even the Gilligan hat.

First reading & interviews

On Monday night I had my first ever book reading and signing, at Borders Books in Eugene. It was indescribably flattering and fun, but also humbling.

I walked into the store about twenty-five minutes before the reading, and happen to catch sight quickly of where a head table and group of audience chairs had been set up for the reading. There was even a little placard with my name, a picture of the book and an announcement of the signing. And there was even someone sitting in the audience already. I couldn't believe it - someone here this early? Wow! A few minutes later, though, when the store manager asked me to sit down at the author table and sign some books for the store to sell later, I happened to notice that the audience member was a grown woman reading out loud to herself (in full voice) a copy of Cinderella and laughing maniacally every few seconds. I'm not a big believer in signs and omens, but it felt like a reminder that I was having with this first reading a kind of glass-slipper moment, but that taking any of it too seriously might turn one (or in this case just one's brain, apparently) into a pumpkin. Luckily, though, a few Duck fans eventually turned up, as did my uncle Bob, my dad's brother.

This has been a tough year for Bob, because not only did his dad (my grandpa) pass away in June, but Bob's son, my cousin Steve, is a pastor with what appears to be (without the help of a big assist from a higher power) terminal cancer. Bob also takes care of my elderly grandma and a gaggle of his own grandkids. So it was, like I say, humbling to have him come to the reading, buy a book and ask to have it signed, especially when I remember the guy doesn't even like Oregon football! I normally would never feel comfortable asking for such a thing, but if you're of a religious persuasion, please consider including a request for Steve next prayer around.

On a lighter note, I also wanted to pass on a podcast available online of a radio interview I did earlier this week with Portland radio station KEX. Two of the interviewers were former local TV news anchors Scott Lynn and Paul Lynman. When I first got on the phone with them, I said, "Am I on Channel 2 or Channel 8?"

I also have done a couple radio interviews by phone with stations in other states: first one in Sarasota, Florida and another in Rockville, Illinois. It was funny how opposite they were. The first one was more of a calm, one-on-one affair with this guy talking about Oregon in a flattering, inquisitive way. The second interview was with a couple of afternoon sports-talk guys. They good-naturedly but bluntly said things like, "Hey, I don't know nothing about Ore-uh-GONN out there. Have you had any good players other than Joey Harrington? Oh wait, he's not any good either." But I was surprised how much I enjoyed bantering back and forth. I may have been on their show, but the topic of choice was Oregon football, something they knew next to nothing about and I, well, know something. So I was like, "You guys are in Rockford, Illinois, right? Well, I could tell you about the couple of different times Oregon beat Illinois, in 1995 and 1993. Or I could tell you about how Oregon is ranked something like 6th all-time in the number of players it's sent to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Or how Oregon led the Pac-10 conference in wins in the 1990s." Luckily it never got hostile - I'd have hated that and felt bad to contributing to such unlikable radio. But the barbs were all done with Nerf weapons, so to speak, and that meant it was a hoot. Or perhaps a quack, I should say.

Clyde Drexler: virtuoso of the slam dunk

Courtesy of NBA-TV via YouTube, recently I discovered what I am hereby designating as the coolest two minutes and 12 seconds of basketball footage I'm ever likely to behold: the 10 greatest dunks by Clyde Drexler, the Hall of Fame guard for the Portland Trail Blazers.

While writing this, I just turned away from the computer a moment to glance at the autograph picture I have of Clyde on the wall here at the office of BJL Enterprises. In this shot, he's doing more of a finger-roll. But he could slam the ball as well as about anyone, even the two principal dunk-rivals of his generation: Michael Jordan and Dominique Wilkins. Michael's free throw dunk? Check. Dominique's windmill slam? Present and accounted for.

And without further ado, I give you these gems from #22...

#10: Against the dreaded Lakers, after a James Worthy miss, Glyde catches an alley-oop one-handed and slams it at Memorial Coliseum.

#9: This time he dunks on the Pistons’ Bill Laimbeer, possibly in the 1990 NBA Finals. "He just exploded down the right base line,” says commentator Dick Vitale. (Vitale's done NBA?) This is a nice consolation prize for losing the series. Wish he could have dunked on Isaiah too.

#8: Clyde dunks on 7-foot-7-inch Manute Bol of the Warriors, the tallest player in NBA history. “Clyde’s not going to enter the Slam Dunk Contest this year,” the commentator says, “but the way to win that thing would probably be to bring Manute Bol and dunk over him, because that is incredibly impressive.”

#7: On a breakaway against San Antonio with no one within 10 feet, Clyde does an exquisite windmill dunk. Commentator: “He’s got 27. What a show by The Glyde!”

#6: Against the Lakers, Drexler drives right down the middle of the lane, squeaking between Worthy and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Nice.

#5: After intercepting a pass on the other end of the court against Houston, Clyde drives the length of the hardwood and weaves between three defenders, finishing off by dunking on former #1 draft pick Ralph Sampson. “There’s only two or three athletes in the NBA who can make that play,” the announcer says, “and Clyde Drexler is one of them.” Mmm-hmm.

#4: While playing for the Rockets (something I usually try to block from my mind), a now severely balding Drexler, once of the sweet Afro, takes a last-second fast break pass on the right wing and stuffs over the hometown Spurs. I do appreciate that there's a 9-to-1 ratio of Blazer/Rocket dunks in this list. Thank you, NBA-TV.

#3: Also against the Spurs but thankfully black in a Blazer uniform, in the blink of an eye, Drexler takes a pass from Jerome Kersey at the top of the key and delivers a thundering slam over The Admiral. “In your face David Robinson!” the announcer says.

#2: This one is particularly satisfying because of the context. In the 1992 NBA Finals against Michael Jordan’s mighty Chicago Bulls, Drexler dunks so hard over Bill Cartwright that the ball bounces off the aging center’s head. Marv Albert of NBC describes it with his signature phrase for such occasions: “Serving up a facial!”

#1: I get chills watching this one from the sheer physical artistry. It also doesn’t hurt that Clyde’s ducking in The Forum against the dreaded Los Angeles Lakers, and in the red away uniforms that I prefer. But really this one is all about the fact that Drexler takes off from the corner of the free-throw line and sails to the basket, his feet tucked under as if it’s part of some Olympic high dive. This judge gives it a 10.

Scanning the years (Part Two)

In about 1994, while a junior at NYU, I went for a walk with my camera in SoHo. I took this shot looking down Thompson street at the World Trade Center. Of course I didn't know then that the towers would be gone within seven years. But the kind of contrast you see in this photo, between the smaller-scaled brownstones and tenements of SoHo with the soaring WTC skyscrapers, is one you'd often find walking in lower Manhattan. The Trade Center towered above everything, and was a constant presence.

What's also crazy about this photo is that it actually shows to the left on Thompson the apartment building that Valarie was living in at the time. We were still about a year away from meeting.

Another recent print I scanned from an old album, like the WTC/Thompson shot above, is this one from Nye Beach in Newport in 2000. It's a little postcard-like, I'll admit: picturesque, but just a little too cliche. However, since I was actually there at the time experiencing the real thing, it's a nice keepsake.

One of the photos I meant to include in my previous post about scanning old albums was this one from a 1998 trip to the Bend area. I'm embarrassed to say I can't remember and can't tell if this is Mt. Bachelor or Broken top, which are right across from each other. The upper portion of the frame is a bit over-exposed, but I like how the frame is comprised of several different layers or portions of the frame: water, then grass and a few scattered small evergreen trees, then the more solid timberline behind that, and finally the mountain peak and sky.

Two other shots from that same 1998 Bend and Bachelor trip I liked are of smaller details. Both were taken beside a creek flowing out of Todd Lake (itself fed by glaciers from the Three Sisters) with a strong current in the place I stopped. One photo is of a small little plant beside the white water, and the other is of the water a few feet away going over a log. Did I mention that Valarie and I find Todd Lake to be one of our favorite and most beautiful, peaceful places on the planet? I haven't been there for years, actually, but looking at these photos makes me yearn to go back. I've got a book reading tentatively set for late August in Bend, and I'm hoping we can scoot over to Todd Lake the next morning before heading home.

Finally there's this shot, taken of my sister sometime in the mid-90s when she was an elementary schooler. We'd gone to the Grocery Outlet in hometown McMinnville with one of our parents, and I remember staging Sara with this ridiculously huge can of beans. Better open a window, Sara! I also like the puffy yellow-green jacket. The Grocery Outlet, as its name suggests, was quite a hilarious amalgamation of cheap foods, with lots of off-brand and generic labels, chintzy knicknacks that didn't sell at other stores, and expiration date to be mindful of.