Throwback Thursday: An Early Formative Experience

“Sometimes when I consider what tremendous consequences come from little things… I am tempted to think there are no little things.” ~Bruce Barton 

I read once that Francis Ford Coppola had an illness when he was a teen that kept him in his bedroom for a year. To keep himself from going crazy at what he couldn’t do, he used to create puppets or characters and stage plays in his room. No doubt this staging and directing on a small scale contributed to his achievements in Hollywood, which included hits like The Godfather and Apocalypse Now.

On a smaller scale I had a bout with pneumonia in seventh grade which contributed in no small way to making me who I am. There were five weeks left in seventh grade when I learned that I had pneumonia and that I would have to stay home and rest. Frankly, I did not feel ill. It was a form of walking pneumonia, so I didn't have a strong incentive to stay housebound. When my mother came home from work she'd find me continually in the woods behind our house or doing things in the yard when I was supposed to be "at rest." The doctor explained that it appeared the only way to keep me inactive, short of shackles, was to hospitalize me. 

After five days in the Somerset Hospital I was released back to the custody of my parents, whereupon I was constantly reminded that if I did not rest and stay in the house I would be back in the hospital. 

 

Evidently my parents recognized that I needed something to keep me busy, and they bought me a paint-by-numbers set. The set had two paintings of a pair of Springer spaniels, along with all the appropriate paraphernalia to make them. A card table was set up in the family room and I allowed myself to become mesmerized by what was involved in creating these paintings, which ultimately hung on the wall of that room for several years. 

You may scoff at paint-by-numbers art, but the whole procedure is quite instructive. First off, you come to understand that what you see up close and from a suitable distance is different. You learn attention to detail, and you learn patience. If nothing else, you learn how to control a brush, how paint adheres to a surface, how appearances are deceiving, and maybe how long it takes to get bored with an activity that is tedious and time consuming. Some people may not have the patience, though frankly, the process of putting paint on a surface still fascinates me to this day and I can’t imagine ever getting bored with it. 

After my bout with pneumonia I did not immediately become an artist. Baseball was my passion at that time. Later in high school, while feeling introspective and somewhat alienated, I returned to my art, inspired by album covers and the works of Hieronymus Bosch. 

In college I continued my pursuit of an art major and this, combined with my habit of writing about anything and everything I was associated with, led to a career in advertising. It only follows that my blog would be representative of these same twin passions, writing and art. The B&W image at the top is that first paint by numbers picture from the weeks I rested and recovered from my pneumonia. The face below is an early drawing from high school.

Can you recall an early formative experience that contributed, in unexpected ways, to who you are today?

Mauer and Me

For Minnesota Twins fans this will not be a season to remember. At a dismal 28 games out of first place in their division it's almost a sure thing that they will take a solid stand in the cellar as the season winds down. A central issue has been the problematic health of their wonder boy Joe Mauer whose injury-plagued year has received as much press as any Twins achievements. (Yes, they did have a win streak at one point.) This weekend Joe Mauer was diagnosed with pneumonia and will likely be done for the season.

Mauer's pneumonia brought to mind my own experience with the disease when I was a young baseball player. I was in seventh grade at the time so it must have been 1964. I played shortstop for the Pluckemin Little League team. Like Joe Mauer I loved playing baseball, and like Mauer I was pretty good at it. I was one of two players on that Pluckemin team to get picked for the All-Star Game.

Then the hand of fate intervened. I was struck down with pneumonia.

Pneumonia is a respiratory disease with a track record of having killed a lot of people throughout history. Before the advent of antibiotics it was nicknamed "the old man's friend" because it was the last disease older folks got before they passed on. In the Third World it still remains the leading cause of death among the very old and very young. It's essentially an infection of the lungs.

The symptoms are supposedly cough, chest pain and fever, among other things. But honestly I do not recall any symptoms at all, though there must have been something that caused my mother to bring me to the doctor who provided that verdict. The cure is simple: take your meds and rest.

For Joe Mauer this means he can't play baseball. He can't work out. He can't run around. He has to rest.

And for me, being a seventh grade boy with an overabundance of energy, the "rest" part was not an easy prescription to follow. I didn't feel ill. I wanted to play in the woods. I wanted to play baseball. And even though I could not go play ball, my mother frequently found me in the woods behind our house. After discussing this situation with the doctor it was decided I should be hospitalized.

I spent five days in the Somerset County Hospital during which time I had many interesting experiences. The first room I stayed in was next to the operating room. One morning I watched the nurses roll a body out of the operating room with their skull still open wide after a surgery. The blanket covering the person had not been pulled fully over the head, the face being turned away from my door. When I commented on this to my mother she mentioned it to the doctors who said this was not possible and I was imagining things. Needless to say I was moved out of that room the next day and up to another floor.

The big event of the week, though, was the Little League All-Star Game. I was supposed to be the starting shortstop, but here I was in a hospital bed. And it was here that I received the news that the kid who replaced me hit a grand slam home run in my place. The pitcher was an intimidating fastballer from Far Hills whom I had found challenging, and I've often wondered how it would have affected my self-esteem had I struck out with the bases loaded that day.

Joe Mauer will be sitting on the sidelines as he watches the slumping Twins limp toward the end of the season. That is, unless he doesn't rest like he's supposed to. Then he will be watching those games from a hospital room, because his mom most assuredly wants him to get well soon.

Good luck, Joe.