Only 'private eyes' see Oates seminar

I appreciate unique experiences, especially when they have anything to do with writing.
And that’s just what several North Penn High School music students and I, among others, got Saturday, Oct. 24, at the Lansdale Center for the Performing Arts when legendary singer-songwriter and North Wales native John Oates conducted a songwriting workshop ahead of a solo gig later the same evening at the LCPA.
He and Daryl Hall — as Hall & Oates — are one of the most successful duos in rock and roll history. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to name a duo that has had more success for such a long period of time, more than four decades now.
Oates told the would-be songwriters a lot of things that apply to writing in general: learn from people you respect; study the people you like; keep a journal; and don’t be afraid to express emotion in one’s writing.
It was a real treat to listen to Oates describe his craft in such an intimate setting. The LCPA is big on providing arts education, and Oates was gracious to share his insights with the 30 or so people who were invited to attend.
Among the additional highlights for me, though, was the inclusion of two young singer-songwriters that are big in the Philly music scene right now – Carsie Blanton and Mutlu. The Blonde Accountant and I are big fans of both and we’ve seen them both at area venues several times.
As one of the North Penn students pointed out after the seminar, it was cool to see the experienced songwriter Oates contrast and interact with the younger songwriters Carsie and Mutlu.
Who would have thought a boy from rural Illinois would one day sit down with John Oates – whose music I grew up on – and discuss writing?
That’s just too cool.

Phils win! Wake up! Or not

There is this unwritten personal rule that I have subscribed to for years: I like to be the first person in the ballpark and the last one to leave.
What that means is that one never leaves a ballgame early, or to translate it further, if one cannot attend the game in person, one never goes to sleep until the last out of the game has been recorded.
To have violated that rule Monday night would have meant missing Jimmy Rollins’ two-out, bottom-of-the-ninth, dramatic double in the gap that scored Eric Bruntlett and Carlos Ruiz to give the Phillies an improbable 5-4 come-from-behind victory over the Los Angeles Dodgers to take a commanding 3-1 lead in the best-of-seven National League Championship Series.
In a similar situation last year in the NLCS between the same two teams, the Phillies’ Matt Stairs hit a two-run homer off Dodgers’ closer Jonathon Broxton to give the Phils a 7-5 victory en route to what would eventually become a World Series championship.
Like Monday night, Stairs’ blast last year happened later in the evening, after everybody but me had gone to sleep at my house. When Stairs crushed a Broxton fastball and sent it deep into the Los Angeles night in 2008, I let out a yee-ha that awakened The Blonde Accountant and the kids.
I’d say I was sorry about waking everybody up, but it was a really big home run in a really big situation and by my way of thinking, nobody should have been sleeping anyway, even if it was a school night.
A similar situation occurred Monday night. Everybody but me was asleep. Same teams, big game, big situation. And the Phillies pulled it off again! Phils win! Phils win!
Remembering that my hootin’ and hollarin’ last year awakened the neighborhood and at that moment finding nobody standing upright with which to do The Happy Dance, I was as subdued as I could be laying there in bed.
My solution this year was to start tapping furiously on The Blonde Accountant’s thigh, which in our house usually means something other than, "Hey, hon, the Phillies won a big ballgame."
Her response was something akin to, “Huh?” She stirred from her slumber as the Phillies mobbed Rollins, seeing absolutely nothing of the celebration, leaned over, turned on the nightstand lamp, and said, “Goodnight.”
I had to get up, go around to her side of the bed, and turn the light off. She had no recollection of the exchange the next morning.
But there was no doubt she was right about one thing: It was a good night.

Waiting 38 years to relive a memory

As a kid I was a Pittsburgh Pirates fan. When the team beat the Baltimore Orioles in the 1971 World Series, I was the happiest kid in my central Illinois neighborhood.
But since nobody else in my part of Illinois followed the Pirates, I didn’t have anybody with which to share that happiness. So on that sunny October day in 1971 in Illinois, with the satisfaction that my team had just captured the world championship, I was reduced to walking through my neighborhood, Pirates baseball cap proudly on my head, hootin’ and hollarin’ to nobody in particular while sporting a big, stupid ear-to-ear grin.
Reflecting back on that special time in my life, my guess is that the neighbors probably wondered what the goofy Morsch kid was up to now.
Flash ahead 38 years later to Saturday night at Otto’s Brauhaus in Horsham, where I found myself sitting across the table from one Jackie Hernandez, who was a guest of the Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society based in Hatboro. I am honored to be a board member of that non-profit organization.
Jackie Hernandez was the shortstop for the 1971 World Champion Pittsburgh Pirates. The Cuban-born, light-hitting anchor of the middle of the Pirates’ defense was a teammate of my favorite players, Hall of Famers Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell and Bill Mazeroski.
I had the opportunity to ask him about that world championship team and about my boyhood heroes. He was their teammate, he knew what they were like as players and individuals. He was there when the last out was recorded and was celebrating with his teammates at the very same time I was walking down the street in my neighborhood in Illinois, looking for somebody with which to share my own personal celebration.
Jackie Hernandez was had a front-row seat to one of my fondest boyhood memories. And I got to sit at a restaurant in Horsham Saturday night and listen to his version of my story.
How cool is that?