Tag writing

Brushes With Fame Come to Life at St. Louis’ Blueberry Hill

Reg Spittle Leave a comment
Stars on the Walk of Fame line the sidewalk at the Blueberry Hill nightclub, which has been visited by a plethora of musicians and other celebrities. Chuck Berry performed here for many years. Four U.S. presidents dropped by.


I pointed to the star imbedded in the sidewalk along Delmar Boulevard, home to the St. Louis, Missouri Walk of Fame.

“I know that guy.”

Sue and I had stopped for a visit on our way to visit our son in West Virginia. She had heard the story about how I knew the guy, so I kept my reminiscing to myself.

It was the summer of 1970. I was 18, loving another visit to Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. I yearned to witness more memorable events that had marked my three years as a sports journalist while I attended high school.

Bill Clark, my Oxnard Press-Courier newspaper colleague, sat next to me in the Dodger Stadium press box. In the row in front of us, Herald-Examiner baseball writer Bob Hunter, a former colleague of Bill’s, took his usual place at Dodger home games. After the game, Bill drove us to Hunter’s bar near the stadium. My 21st birthday was a lifetime away, so I waited in Bill’s white Chrysler Imperial while Bill went inside for “a drink.”

An hour ticked by. A knock on the car window jolted me awake. Bill peered in.

“Bob said you can come in.”

In a world of grownups, I sat at the bar next to Bill. I sipped a Coke, wishing it was spiked with a couple shots of rum. I downed several Coke refills while Bill drank a few more of his drinks. We talked baseball with Bob as he worked behind the bar. At first, I hardly noticed the middle-aged guy who pulled himself onto the barstool to my right. The auburn-haired man and I exchanged friendly words; I shared that I had just seen the Cardinals beat my Dodgers. He asked me all about how I got into sports journalism.

It was well after midnight when Bill and I walked toward his car.

“Here.” He handed me his keys. “You’d better drive.”

The V-8 engine roared to life. I pushed the “D” button next to the steering wheel and the car lurched forward a bit faster than I intended. Bill didn’t seem to notice. He said he was not looking forward to his sports desk shift that would begin at 6 a.m.

“Now, Reg, you know who was sitting next to you in the bar, don’t you?”

“Nah. Kinda dark in there.”

Bill shook his head. “Jeez! That was Red Schoendienst! You do know who that is, I hope.”

I had to think quick. “Just kidding.” I chuckled. “Of course I knew who he was.”

As I steered the huge car toward the freeway, I wondered if I had disguised the fact that I had not recognized the man who would be inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame. He wore a major league uniform for 74 years as a player, coach, or manager. On the night we chatted, he was the winning manager.

I was the kid without a clue.

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: Care More About Caring Less

Reg Spittle 2 Comments

If you are bothered by Mark Manson’s profanity in his book, he would say you are giving a f*ck about the wrong thing.

In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Manson writes, “Wanting a positive experience is a negative experience; accepting a negative experience is a positive experience.”

He describes situations that trap people in the “Feedback Loop from Hell.”

If you care too much about making your life better, you are damaging your mental health. Your thoughts remind you that you don’t have enough money, the best job, or the body you want.

If you worry about being perfect, it leads you to hate yourself and to harbor guilt about who you are.

There is a better way, Manson writes. Care less, or don’t give a f*ck. Focus on what is real, what is now.

Feel like sh*t today? That’s life. It’s OK to feel bad. Don’t hate yourself for it, he says. You will struggle. You will fail. Accept pain. Life will not always be OK.

This does not mean you don’t care. Manson writes that it is all about choosing what to give a f*ck about. Choose your battles. Focus on things you can control.

Millions are paying attention to Manson’s words. He first made his name as a blogger, but is even more famous as an author of this book, which has sold 12 million copies.