The Rangers Last Game, Garagiola, Mountains, Prescott

Day 227 on the road.

The Rangers and MLB ended Spring Training this week, officially on Thursday. A new record attendance of 1.3 million fans made it to the Cactus League this year. The reason: severe winter weather in the north and east made it easy for many to head south for some baseball this year. An estimated 60 percent of the fans are from out of state.

I attended the last two Rangers home games, one was a night game on Tuesday night. The weather was perfect. The last game was yesterday. It began at Noon so the players could get out of town early.

Joe Garagiola was at the game autographing his new book, "Just Play Ball."

Below is a video clip from yesterday's last game of the 2008 season.

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I met a Rangers Bat Boy at a game when he took the seat next to mine while his mother remained on the lawn in the outfield. I was shooting a video clip when he convinced a player to toss him a ball. I promised him I would post the clip of him on YouTube, so here it is. He was back to work on the bench yesterday with the Rangers, shagging balls and bats.




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After the game I drove through the mountains to Prescott, Arizona. I'm there now. I'm posting this update from a Starbucks north of downtown. What a beautiful town, sitting on the slopes of the mountains and in the Prescott National Forest.


The trip from Surprise was easy enough. I just took Hwy. 69 north to a little town called Wickenburg. From there I took Hwy. 89 north which takes you directly through a mountain range.
Be prepared to take your time if you drive this scenic route to Prescott. The roads curve severely and you must reduce your speed in most cases to 20-25 miles an hour. But the views are breathtaking.











Once you arrive in Prescott, you find a nice sized town built among the slopes of the mountains that surround the town. I've not seen one street that isn't sloped or elevated. The new mall is built in what looks like a hill that was cut out for that purpose.

Downtown has a monumental country courthouse and plaza that is heavily treed and beautiful. I read that this historic town was the first capital of the new Arizona territory under President Lincoln.

A Tale of Two Wolfe's

I've been reading a collection of short stories by Thomas Wolfe. This is the Wolfe born in Ashville, North Carolina in 1900 and published his first novel, Look Homeward, Angel, in 1929. He died a young man in 1938 leaving a trail of manuscripts and stories that have become literary masterpieces.

He is not to be confused with the current writer Tom Wolfe. This Wolfe was born in Richmond, Virginia in 1931. This Wolfe began his career as a journalist writing for the Washington Post and the New York Herald Tribune. He called his mixture of literary techniques and journalism a "new journalism" that experimented with various ways to tell a fact-based story. He may be best known for his novel Bonfire of the Vanities.

Thomas Wolfe attended Harvard, while Tom attended Yale. Thomas taught for time at New York University and later spent time traveling through Europe. Tom, however, spent ten years as a newspaper journalist, mostly as a general assignment reporter.

I'm now reading The Complete Short Stories of Thomas Wolfe (Francis E. Skipp, Ed., 1987). The compilation contains all of his published short story material. The stories are arranged by date, in the order in which they were published.

Having just finished a book on the friendship between U.S. Grant and William T. Sherman, I suppose the idea of reading two authors with the same name was intriguing to me. They certainly weren't friends, nor even knew each other. Tom Wolfe was only eight years old when the elder Thomas Wolfe died at the age of 38. But a pairing is a pairing, even if only by name. I also just purchased a book published in 2003 on the friendship between Winston Churchill and Theodore Roosevelt.

For whatever reason, I'm interested in juxtaposing two historical figures, or in the case of the Wolfes two authors, and discovering what I can about their relationships. I'm not sure I'll learn anything by placing Thomas and Tom side-by-side as I read their works, but I have a sneaking suspicion that something will emerge through their writings that will be simpatico.

The sun has finally come out this morning. The rains have subsided for the time being. Starbucks is quiet, with a few onlookers at the food counter wondering what salad or overpriced sandwich they'll eat for lunch. I'm still trying to figure out the Starbucks appeal. It's a branding iron. The cattle must have their Guatemala Antigua blend.

I have an uneaten banana staring at me as if to say, "What are you waiting for? I'm here." My routine the past few weeks has been to visit the local grocery store for a banana and yogurt. Then I settle down at Starbucks for a few hours of reading, writing, and googling online. My banana knows I'll eventually get to her, but she's impatient. The yogurt has already served its purpose. Life does have its small pleasures.

I've been on CraigsList looking for writing jobs in the Las Vegas area. I found only one descent lead. Most of the posts are junk ads for web sites seeking content. For the most part I think it's waste of time. However, in the real estate area I have made contact with a few Las Vegas agents and local investors.

I finished the book Grant and Sherman by Charles Bracelen Flood. I was emotionally moved by the description of the two-day parade that celebrated the end of the war, the armies of the east and west, the coming together of Grant and Sherman at the reviewing stand. What a scene it must have been. Five weeks after Lincoln was assassinated, the parade was a celebration with 80,000 soldiers marching before a crowd that cheered, roared and cried for a group of men who saved the nation. I wish I had been there.

I love reading about the Civil War, the stories of men and their relationships with each other. I read earlier this month, for example, about Grant moving on Fort Donelson. The fort was deserted by most of the generals and many of the soldiers, leaving in command an old acquaintance of Grant, a fellow named Simon Bolivar Buckner. Buckner loaned Grant some money years before when Grant was penniless, getting off a boat in Manhattan. Now Buckner finds himself surrendering to "Unconditional Surrender" Grant at the fort after a couple of days of fighting in the rain and swamps of the Tennessee River. Grant walked with Buckner down to the dock to see him off, as Buckner was being sent back to Cairo as a prisoner of war. Grant pulled him aside and said, "…you are seperated from your people…perhaps you need some funds...my purse is at your disposal."

I also read the story of Voltaire P. Twombley, a soldier involved in the fight to capture the fort. Three flag bearers had fallen to musket rounds, and Twombley was not afraid to become the fourth. He hoisted the flag and ran along the side of his commander, Brigadier General Charles F. Smith, to take the slopes of the fort. A musket ball hit Twombley hard enough to knock him down, but being that it was shot from a far distance, it did no critical damage. Twombley won the Congressional Medal of Honor for his role in the battle. That name is a strange one, though.