We had little opportunity in Europe to see the Olympics on TV. To our disappointment the one night we were able to watch the games all we could find was Italian soccer. Come on, Italy! A few times we were able to see EuroSport--a network that had very comprehensive coverage of all sports and all athletes—very different from the heavily biased NBC. While NBC’s coverage is technically excellent with superb camera work, it has an obsession with just a few sports and just a few athletes. Their repetitive obsession with the Bode Miller saga (Bode brings a new meaning to the term "downhill"), teenager Sasha Cohen’s falls, or the Chad Hedrick-Shani Davis soap opera all become rather sickening and resulted in leaving many other interesting stories untold.
One untold story we encountered was less about the competitors and more about the fans. Upon arrival in Torino we met the mother of doubles luge competitor Brian Martin. Some might have seen Brian and his partner Mark Grimmette on the NBC
Today Show when they tried to teach Al Roker and Matt Lauer the basics of doubles luge. Not an easy task! And Al Roker in a skin-tight luge speed suit is not a pretty sight…despite his claim “Passion Lives Here!”
The new Cesana Pariol luge course surrounded by the beautiful Italian Alps was not an easy one. The previous competition saw six crashes. Later that day a medical helicopter would evacuate a badly injured sledder. It was interesting to walk along the course to see how steep and how difficult it was. Its difficulty never dimmed Martin/Grimmette’s determination.
They hoped to be the first American men to earn Olympic medals in 3 consecutive Olympics. Two women have done it—Wisconsin speed skater Bonnie Blair and figure skater Beatrix Loughran. Brian and Mark were likely candidates. They are the most successful luge athletes in US history with two Olympic medals (bronze in 1998, silver in 2002) and have won the overall World Cup trophy three times.
When we arrived at the luge course we not only saw Brian’s mom, but also along side her were the “Sled Heads.” (Sled heads showed their enthusiastic support for Martin/Grimmette by wearing makeshift luge sleds on their heads.) Twenty plus friends from Martin’s childhood, high school, and college years were so determined to be in Torino to support their friend and his teammate that some even delayed having children to be there. Their spirited enthusiasm was just fun to watch and definitely contagious.
Watching luge is a skill in itself. A person watches the big screen until the sledders reach your section. Sledders soar by in just seconds and then back to the big screen.
After years of training and sacrifice, Martin/Grimmette were in the start house for their first run poised to make American Olympic history. We enthusiastically joined the “Sled Heads” as they roared their support. As the sled screamed by turns 7 and 8, the roar of cheers, horns, and bells radiated throughout the mountain venue. Then only seconds later, tragedy struck. Going too high into turn 12, Martin/Grimmete’s sled flipped and crashed. There was instant silence as the “Sled Heads” watched the horror unfold on the big screen before us. Not a word was said as the group stared in disbelief. They stood in shock for what seemed forever. There are no second chances in luge. The four-year dream was crushed in a split second. The mountain turned bitter cold.
The crowd dwindled during the second runs as the biting wind became stronger. Near the end of the final runs, though, the enthusiasm shown earlier by the Sled Heads was replaced by the ecstatic cheers of Italian children as two Italian teams had the two fastest times with only three teams remaining. We joined their joyous chants of I--tal--ia! I—-tal--ia! I—-tal--ia! Their youthful celebration was a welcome consolation.
There is often a fine line between the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, but we must always keep in perspective that even at the Olympics it is just sport. We ran into Brian’s Mom a fourth and final time on our last night at the Torino Olympics. The disappointment was still visible on her face and apparent in her voice. I gave her a hug and said, “Your son must be an extraordinary person to have such loyal and supportive friends.” She agreed.
With bruised bodies and probably broken hearts, Martin and Grimmette left Torino. They left without the "precious" medals they sacrificed so much for, but they left with something in the long run even more valuable—-the undying support and love of friends.
Ciltius.
Altius.
Fortius.
Heves
As we approached Heves on the 2+ hour bus ride, the roads became worse and the countryside became bleaker. Lights in the country were nearly non-existent and while we passed small patches of wooded areas, the late winter landscape became a windswept barren. But our experience in Heves (hev-ish) was a wonderfully warm one.
First stop -- Jeremy’s apartment. It was not the Communist era drab apartment building we expected, but a relatively cute flat on a residential street. True the apartment resident can access all appliances in the kitchen without moving, but, hey, that can only cut down on cleaning time. In fact Jeremy is the proud holder of The Best Decorated Apartment awarded by fellow American CETP teachers. (Cut-up colorful bedsheets helped create this special ambience.)
Second stop was just across the street—the city owned apartment where Carol and I stayed on our Heves visit compete with a very inviting circular sitting room and for the exorbitant rate of 2000 forints per night ($10). We came to call it “The Royal Apartment.”
Third stop was the only restaurant in a town of 10,000. While it looked like a place where one could have a wonderful meal, we were its only guests late Monday evening and no food was being served. Oh well, a good place to have a drink.
The next morning, we found our way to Eotvos Joszef Kozepikola, the Heves middle/high school where Jeremy teaches 212 English students and 55 German language students. A daunting task with limited Hungarian and no student textbooks.
But our visit was refreshing. As we entered Jeremy’s classroom, all students rose and warmly said, “Good morning.” We immediately felt like special guests. We enjoyed conversation with students and they helped us learn some fundamentals of their language (a very difficult one). We played “Who Wants to be a Millionaire" with wonderfully spirited sophomore students. But first they enthusiastically sang their favorite Beatles song “Hello, Goodbye” followed by an old Kellogg’s “Good Morning, Good Morning.” We were impressed with students who were polite, friendly, and eager to make us welcome.
Later as we sat in Herr Director's office visiting with Agi, the Headmaster, and Etelka, the Hungarian English teacher, we felt like dignitaries.
It is clear that Heves is a poor community with limited employment opportunity. Their “mall” was a Wednesday morning open-air market complete with produce, hardware, footwear, and clothes. It was amazing how hard people had to work to set up displays of nice clothing in a parking area that was oozing with snowmelt and mud. We saw many people but we didn't obsrve many transactions. Milk was sold in recycled liter soda bottles. I wondered if this was a traveling market that moved each day to a different city. We take so much for granted in America. Later we also saw beautiful hand-woven linens that took weeks to complete. Each stitch was a work of love.
While the resource gap is large between Fondy High School and Eotvos Joszef Kozepikola, there are still many commonalities. Kids are kids just like here. Teachers are hardworking just like here. And at both schools there exists a friendly, inviting atmosphere (not visible at all schools).
Jeremy’s adventure has its challenges. We are impressed with his creative ability to make things work. His acceptance of challenge, his commitment to young people, and his personal style are all admirable.
That evening we had a wonderful wine-tasting tour of a winery with Etelka as our interpreter and guide. (She is Rick Steves’ guide for all of Hungary!) Each wine we sampled tasted better than the previous. Isvon and his wife warmly shared their passion for winemaking as we talked for hours. (Of course, it didn't hurt that we drove away with a trunkful of their award winning wine while leaving behind a handful of forinths. All 7 bottles stuffed in our baggage made it home safely! What were we thinking?)
The personal tour with Etelka was truly special. It was a golden moment for us. Once again, we truly felt like royalty.
Despite comparative poverty, Heves people were very generous to us. It was a highlight of our odyssey.
We felt like royal parents.
Co-conspirators at the
Kohari Winery!
As a cross country runner, I have always had a special respect and admiration for speed skaters. Both sports are individual sports with no timeouts, no substitutions, and no halftime. And both enjoy relative obscurity in the US (except when speed skating is rediscovered every four years). I have several speed skating heroes--Dan Jansen, Bonnie Blair, and Eric Heiden. My newest hero is Joey Cheek.
This article reprinted from Yahoo Sports might explain why.
February 13, 2006
Mr. William Fitzsimmons
Dean of Admissions
Harvard University
Cambridge, MA 02138
Dear Mr. Fitzsimmons,
With all due respect, sir, are you stupid?
I have to ask since, apparently, you were the person who denied the application to the Harvard Class of 2010 of one Joey Cheek.
"Turns out they didn't let me in," said Cheek, who at 26 is looking to attend college next fall, said he had a perfect verbal score on his SAT ("I scored north of 1400 total.") and, really, after what he did Monday in Italy, ought to have every school in the country begging for him.
Which is why I have to wonder, if Joey Cheek can't get into Harvard, what the heck are the criteria?
Maybe you forgot his application, so let me remind you. Yes, it is a little unorthodox. He graduated with honors way back in 1997 from Greensboro (N.C.) Dudley High School, which, I understand, isn't exactly Choate Rosemary Hall or Andover, but, cut a Southerner a break, will you?
Anyway, he took time to try this speedskating thing, which is also unusual because who speed skates in Greensboro, where ice is only used in sweet tea? But Cheek was an in-line skater with a dream, so he pursued it, even if, as he admits, in the grand scheme of things, speedskating is a little "ridiculous."
"I skate around on ice in tights," he said. The thing is, Monday, over here at this little thing called the Winter Olympics, Cheek skated around in tights faster than anyone in the world.
He won the gold in the 500 meter in a blistering two-race total of 69.76, a whopping .65 seconds faster than silver medalist Dmitry Dorofeyev, who never stood a chance � "only a miracle could do something," he conceded.
Now, we understand speedskating, even gold-medal speedskating, does not get you into Harvard. Consider Dorofeyev, he didn't seem like Harvard material. So, fine, if he applies, deny him.
But Cheek? As impressive as he was on the ice, he was better in the post-race news conference, where he declined to do what every other Olympian does � talk about how great they are.
Instead, he announced he was donating all of his USOC award money ($25,000) to the Right to Play organization, which, according to righttoplay.com, is an "international humanitarian organization that uses sport and play as a tool for the development of children and youth in the most disadvantaged areas of the world."
The money isn't much, Cheek admitted, but he wanted to use his newfound fleeting fame to raise money and awareness. His personal goal is to get the program into the devastated Darfur region of Sudan.
"If the region can ever stabilize we can go into Sudan and start the program for refugees," he said.
Cheek went on and on about it. He said he researched the organization and is confident of its track record, even meeting with administrators Monday morning. He talked about pressuring sponsors and leading a mission to Africa this summer, you know, before enrolling in school.
Hey, it's not working at Taco Bell to save money for prom, but you'd think it would count for something, right Mr. Fitzsimmons?
And, let me tell you, as a veteran of the Olympic press conference, this was beyond incredible. Usually we are treated to self-indulgent talk, praise for corporate sponsors, outrageous posturing, mostly fake tears and scripted storylines. Not this time.
"The best way I can say thank you is by helping someone," said Cheek. "Rather than take the time to gush about how wonderful I feel, [I wanted] to do something productive."
If this doesn't get you into Harvard, is there hope for anyone?
"I've been out of school 10 years, and they were concerned I couldn't read a sentence or write my name," Cheek said with a smile.
Yeah, he really sounded like a dolt after spending 10 years showing incredible focus, dedication and drive and traveling the world. He wants to study English and economics, but he seems intrigued by everything. He may have a future in politics, even, he said, the presidency.
This guy is something else. It was no coincidence that after he won gold, almost all of his opponents went out of their way to shake his hand or give him a hug. Or that skating fans from around the globe (who know him well from past races) stood and cheered as he gave the American flag a victory lap.
Of course, it probably would have been better if he had just been elected section captain at band camp or something, right Mr. Fitzsimmons?
Oh, and it is not like the guy is some geek. He has a fun side. In his spare time ("you get bored during speedskating training") he learned to build an explosive-powered potato gun out of PVC pipe. You stuff a potato in one end, fill the other with hair spray, make a spark and, boom.
"The potato shoots 300 yards," he smiled.
What, you don't need a guy like that around, what with those MIT pranksters right down the block? And don't you think it would be good for Harvard to have someone who could skate down the frozen Charles River really, really fast? Don't you think, with the gold medal and the good looks, some of the current coeds might find him worthy of admission?
Yes, we know, getting into Harvard is very, very difficult. Lots of valedictorians don't get in. But really, couldn't you go with one less J. Cabot Peabody Winthrop IV? Couldn't you lose the application of one of those sorry C-plus legacies? Couldn't you just cut the quota from Exeter Academy by one?
Seriously, my older sister, Marjorie, actually graduated from Harvard and, sure, I love her and all, but the only thing she's ever done with a lot of ice is make a margarita.
Oh, and don't you (or all those other Harvard Grads) get any satisfaction from the idea you have ruined Cheek's life either. He has other options. I told him I could get him into the University of Massachusetts, which is known as the Harvard of Western Mass. (except, of course, for the other schools that are better), but he seemed to have a backup plan.
Columbia, Stanford, Georgetown, Duke, maybe even Yale.
"I figured I'd try the shotgun approach, maybe hit one," he smiled.
I am hoping it's Yale. Then, when he perfects that potato gun, Mr. Fitzsimmons, he might be within range to send a cross-New England spud right through your window.
Sincerely,
Dan Wetzel
Turin, Italy
(Cheek's donations from his gold and silver have now inspired over $300,000 in contributions to Right to Play.)
Info at http://www.righttoplay.com/site/PageServer
Dan Wetzel is Yahoo! Sports' national columnist. Dan is the author of two new books.
"Glory Road", with Don Haskins, is about the legendary coach of 1966 NCAA champion Texas Western, whose decision to start five black players was instrumental in integrating college teams in the South. A Disney movie of the same name is now playing in theaters.
Also on sale now is "Runnin' Rebel: Shark Tales of 'Extra Benefits,' Frank Sinatra and Winning It All" with colorful former UNLV coach Jerry Tarkanian.
Budapest
We had a very interesting visit in Budapest. The classical architecture is amazing. I love seeing old buildings preserved for generations.
We frequently made use of their transit system - a variety of buses, streetcars from the early 1900,s, a modern subway system that even goes under the Danube, and modern trams. Of course we also made liberal use of our feet. The view from Castle Hill over looking the Danube and Pest is grand and definitely worth the hike. It must be breathtaking in summer when trees are green.
On Sunday evening, Jeremy, Carol and I joined Jessa, a fellow CETP teacher, at the Hungarian State Opera House to enjoy Wagner,s Tannhauser. The Opera House is the most elegant building I have ever been in. We didn,t understand hardly a darn thing as it was sung in German with subtitles in Hungarian. Something about some guy who wanted his cake and eat it too. A couple of people died in the end but we,re not sure why. But the experience was special.
Yesterday we arrived in Heves, Jeremy,s home this year. He has a very nice little apartment and we are staying in a wonderful little apartment owned by the school. (only 2000 Forinths a night - ten dollars). The city has many trees and surpasses our expectations.
Tomorrow we go to Jeremy,s school and try to learn a little Hungarian. A rather hopeless quest, but it will be fun to spend time with his students.
Wine tasting in Eger tonight!
We hope Wally and Donna had a pleasant conclusion to their journey. We hope they survived the our ambitous agenda at the Olympics. Use the link to read of their experiences. Also enjoy Jeremy's comments at his link. (Hey, just found the apostrophe key on the hHungarian keyboard!)
Ciao
More later.
"Teach Your Children Well"
The words of Crosby, Nash, Still, and Young seem so appropriate.
We all play various roles in our lifetime, and Grandma played many. For
many years she was a devoted to wife to Charley (and without complaint endured
his Dutchmaster Belvedere cigars). They were a graceful couple on the dance floor
and friends to many at Klinks, the Hideaway, the Scrapbook, and others. On
Sundays they leisurely cruised Okauchee Lake, and she routinely put fear into the
hearts of many sunfish. In their early years they could also be seen cruising on
their motorcycles with Grandma riding on her own Indian cycle! Those who played
cards with her knew to bring their money--she was good. She was an active member
at St. Joan of Arc parish and the Okauchee American Legion. And, of course, she
was a great cook.
But of all the roles she played, the most cherished and most special one was Grandma. Within her own family she played a vital role in raising three generations. (We didn't always make that an easy task!) It did not stop there as she provided wonderful daycare for many area families and became legendary as
the 'Okauchee Grandma.' Her legacy grew from the magic she worked with
children. Her warmth radiated to those of us lucky to have grown up under her caring and love.
I was so lucky to have lived with her for 24 years. It was always a mystery to me why I did not live with a parent, but I learned many things from Grandma. I have learned that if we work hard, we can make the world a little bit better. I learned that anything worth doing is worth doing well and I have tried to follow her modeling. I learned to cherish nature as we so fortunately lived under the towering trees of Elm Avenue and overlooked inviting Okauchee Lake. I learned to enjoy the fellowship of friends and to be warm, respectful, and kind to all. I never recall a time when she was anything else. And finally, I learned that children are special,that they are the most important thing in our lives.
I regret that I could not be with friends and family at the celebration of her
life. I am realizing a life-long dream of experiencing the Winter Olympics and then visiting Jeremy in Hungary. I know it would put a smile on her face.
As Megan continues her training for teaching and Jeremy continues his teaching
and inspiring young people in three states and two continents, Grandma can be proud her legacy continues to thrive and continue in future generations.
Our lives have been touched with grace by this loving and kind person. We are
truly lucky.
I am quite sure at this time that Grandma would want us all to
have a beer at the kitchen table. Do they still make Schlitz shorties?
Earl
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Shortly after our departure, my grandmother died. It was time. She lived a long, full life, but her last two years were diminished by dementia. Unfortunately, Carol, Jeremy, and I were unable to be with our family and her friends to celebrate her life at this special time. Below are comments Jeremy shared on his web journal. Mine will follow.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
...in the palm of his hand...
I have four grandmothers.
Simple math would indicate that it's difficult, or some other form of abnormal, to have four grandmothers. I'm comfortable blaming most of the tangle on my dad's childhood in Okauchee, Wisconsin. I handled the abnormality as a child by embracing only some of the options available to me.
I love two of my grandmothers. And both are in the process of dying.
As much as I wish I was privy to my unleashed imagination, I don't usually remember my dreams. But last night, or the other night, or any night that isn't this moment of sunshine, I remembered more dreams than most nights.
A face-less grandmother, one of the two, had died.
In the first dream, I was back home. It was summer, my family and I were outside, surrounded my a fence. Mom and Megan were largely emotionless. But my dad and I were wailing. Gertie, who helped to raise him back in the years when the now-94-year-old still loved to fish, had been so important to who he became, that he was reduced to sobs. I could understand why he was crying, so I was consumed by convulsions of tears as well.
The second dream was different, I was here in Hungary, left alone thousands of miles away to deal with the loss of a grandmother. This time it could have been Elaine, an 86-year-old who could deal Sheepshead or Robin Yount-talk with the best of them, all the while pooring her Milwaukee's Best into a tall, thin glass.
In the dream, I did the only thing that made sense, apparently. I went to visited the oldest person I know in Heves, a speckled old lady named Barbara who happens to speak English. (I saw her again walking in to the library today, she handed me a piece of paper with her address on it because I still haven't made good on my December promise to visit her.) I asked Barbara for permission to touch the oldest piece of cloth that her family owned. I don't remember what it was, but the moment helped me. I thought, smiled, and walked away.
My goodbyes have already been said to both grandmothers, I won't get a second chance.
They're special grandmothers. For more than just teaching me Kings-in-the-Corner and cribbage. For more than just Christmas presents and happy memories. For more than just Bob Uecker's April-Sunday-1987 Home-Rome-Call. For more than just how they raised my parents and lived their lives.
They lived through amazing times: wars and depressions and peace and prosperity. The have amazing stories I will never hear again. And in my family's history - i'm probably a 5th or 6th generation American at best - they were the last to know, to learn from, the brave souls who carried a names Jewett or Robinson or Lewis or Klauck, or simply the blood in my sister and I, across the Atlantic as they ventured to America.
The German families and Irish families and who-knows-what-other-kinds of families, intent on carving out a new life for their family, who migrated to a new land of promise. I get to live that life of promise, such is the good-fortune of my inheritance. It means I even have the chance to live back in those "old countries," if only for a few seasons.
But i feel a sad loss, such a bittersweet loss, as i think back on my grandmothers. My family is losing so many stories, left untold or unremembered, especially those of how we came to be so lucky.
My prayers wouldn't do much good, I fear, but I trust that theirs will be well-received.
Hungary
Communication with Jeremy since early August has been limited--occasional emails and a few precious phone calls, the Christmas package he sent (consuming much of a Hungarian teacher's monthly salary), and reading and responding to his intriguing journal on the web. So we eagerly awaited our visit with him. While originally planning to travel via train through Austria, we opted to spend more time with him by flying from Milan to Budapest on EuroSky, one of Europe's new budget airlines. Expecting duct tape to support the wings, we were pleasantly surprised to fly on a nearly new plane. And we were equally surprised to arrive at a very modern airport.
It was a wonderful reunion as we were greeted by a smiling Jeremy and his Hungarian friend Eva. Six years ago they worked together at Camp Nan-A-Bo-Sho. (Once again NABS works its magic.) Eva, who now works for the Hungarian Ministry of Defense, crammed our bags into the back of her little car and whisked us off to the Red Bus Hostel. Her only request? Some of Carol's world famous fruit roll-ups. And the recipe! Prior to the collapse of Communism in the late 1980's, we would not so quickly divulge these international secrets.
Budapest is a remarkable city. Enduring repeated conquests through the centuries, its most recent conquest is McDonalds. We saw 4 in just a matter of blocks. Although compared to the previous conquests, this one is relatively benign. It is more a "McDonald's Light" called a McCafe--no drive-thru's and a modern Euro-style atmoshpere.
We walked the streets of the central city on our first night and encountered a street musician at midnight playing Bolero on his violin. I wished we had heard his entire concert. A classic moment I will never forget.
Tonight--the opera!
