Daze of Infamy

By Dr. James Ketron Ross

An intriguing coming of age storyfor the ages! Sojourn sleepy Savannah in the stormy Sixties, a city too dignified to hate. A storytelling delight, meet a Greek mentor, teaching and coaching a group of boys with varying heritage. Transforming moments, transforming livesoccasionally changing the world forever! Daze of Infamy is about all of us, a book for all of us. Creating a better understanding of Our Own Daze. One thing for sure, it will make you think! If Forrest Gump and a Big Fat Greek Wedding married and had a child, Daze of Infamy might be it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514474754

Dr. James Ketron Ross

James Ross was a physician, winemaker, artist, chef, and novelist. Most importantly, though, he was a great father to his three children. He spent most of his life in his cherished Kentucky, where he passed away in 2015. Daze of Infamy began as a dream in 2003 in Savannah. He first visited Savannah in 1978 and lived there for many years. He honors his family heritage of teaching through his character Constantine Pappas. Mr. Pappas also honors Jim’s mentor, lovingly known to all as Mr. Deane. Dr. Ross gave his father credit for the spirituality that nurtured him.

Book preview

Prologue

Socrates emphasized that an unexamined life is not worth living. Daze of Infamy examines the lives of several fictional young men as they come of age in Savannah in the stormy sixties and far beyond.

Every chapter begins with a date and time, defining a moment in which lives change or, more likely, no major changes occur. In fiction, as in reality, characters treading water in the sea of life can be boring. Constantine Pappas strongly believes in moments when change occurs, and they unfold page after page throughout Daze of Infamy.

One caveat to note: Daze of Infamy is a book about men and boys. It's never an intentional act to exclude women, but focusing on the coach and his boys was all I could manage. In this fictional book, women play minor roles, unlike the strong influence they represent in reality.

Given more talent than I possess, I could have easily made this novel portray girls and boys, women and men, and a mentor who could be a woman or a man. However limited, this novel focuses on the characters that grew up in my brain, until I finally released them. Now that they have escaped, I fervently hope these boys will slip into your protective consciousness.

After a decade of understanding the coach and his boys, I am grateful and feel blessed to have known them. Like a father, I am proud they are free at last to spend time with others. I pray that the moment you've decided to read this novel becomes a moment you will fondly remember.

So now I share with you the boys, the turbulent sixties, historic Savannah, 9/11, and the world as explained by their coach. Hopefully, this coach will inspire you as he has inspired his boys to live an examined life.

Finally, the boys, like all boys, will be boys, meaning all their potential almost frittered away. In the end, you will be the judge of how well they've succeeded. Enjoy the moments!

Chapter 1

Angus Arrives

September 11, 2001, 7:55 am

Angus rushed on the plane. He was the last person to get on the Savannah flight as his flight to Savannah the evening before was canceled by bad weather in Atlanta.

He showed his ticket, 2B, to the stewardess, and she confirmed he was in first class.

Thank you!

He was lucky to have made the flight and even luckier to be sitting in an upgraded first-class seat. He introduced himself to his seatmate. Good morning. I'm Angus Ross.

The smiling blonde sitting next to him put her hand out and said, I'm Angie, from Atlanta.

Angus shook her hand. I'm from Washington, DC, but I grew up in Savannah a long time ago. He settled into his aisle seat after putting his carry-on bag in the compartment over their heads.

They conversed like they were back-porch friends as coffee was poured. Angus shared, My high school mentor, coach, and the most important person in my life is being buried today.

After several rounds of conversation were exchanged, they were airborne, and danish and juice were served.

Angus replied to the question posed by Angie. "Yes, they suspended me from my high school graduation because I had an overdue book, The Little Prince!"

That's a children's book! How absurd is that? It seems so childish!

"There was no childishness in that man! However, no fellow faculty member at St. Bartholomew's could understand why Coach had The Little Prince on his required-reading list for his religion class either. They always stated, 'This is an academic institution educating the top kids in the region, prepping them for the best colleges and universities in the nation. Coach still required each one of us high school students to read it, and I just forgot to return my copy."

Angus, do you know the reasons your coach had you read that book for his religion class?

I can answer that, Angus said with a smile, almost a laugh, realizing the joy the coach must have experienced doing everything his way like it was the only way. I believe Coach was trying to tell us the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched. They are felt with the heart.

Angus, I understand how beautiful that man was. How fortunate you boys were to have him as a teacher!

He would have appreciated that. He granted each one of us a degree of understanding when we graduated from St. Bart's.

Wow. Angie, an extroverted real estate agent from Atlanta, changed the subject. I always sit in 2A.

Why?

I call it the Shakespearean row of the plane.

Despite sounding redundant, Angus again asked, Why?

Well, 2B or not 2B. She continued, You're in 2B, and I'm not.

Angus, laughing, said, Well, you started a dialogue. Now I understand.

Angus was a Savannah boy returning home for a mentor's funeral. He was glad for the talk, and he appreciated her inquisitiveness.

The flight attendant had already announced their immediate landing in Savannah, and they felt the rumble of the slowing plane.

Angie told Angus, Thank you for sharing even if the mission of your trip is sad and you are here to mourn the loss of a great mentor and coach. I wish I had known your coach. His unique theory of the three types of moments in a person's life when change occurs is fascinating. She was in her own philosophy-driven row of the plane.

Yes, he was one of a kind. Coach told us, 'Devote your life to a mission you can write in a hundred words or less.' Angus knew he had attempted it for himself, but he told her, I'm not sure if that is what made him so different, but I have never forgotten so many of his words. Now I recognize his extreme wisdom on life matters, so I just borrowed his mission, as mine was never better even after a thousand edits.

Once on the ground, the plane taxied to the gate. The secure door opened, and before Angus knew it, fortunate that he was on the second row, he was exiting the plane quickly. He would make it to the church on time despite not arriving for the visitation the previous night as planned.

As they headed up the gangway, Angie handed Angus her business card. He acknowledged it and placed it in his pocket. She said jokingly as they began their terminal jaunts, Please e-mail me his one-hundred-word mission. I must know it. And thank you for sharing his life with me. I wish I could hear your eulogy, but business calls rule the day. Please send that mission statement to me, or I'll haunt you in your dreams!

Angus entered the main terminal, noticing the unusually large crowd around the television in the concourse. He was impressed at the nice facility Savannah now had compared to his memory of a hangar-like structure in the sixties.

What could be happening at eight fifty-five in the morning anywhere to create so much interest? Angus wondered. Despite the desperate need to get his luggage, find a rental car, and then get to the hotel, his curiosity forced him to take a peek.

As he approached the television, he could see tears on the faces of men and women watching the screen. He saw smoke on the screen and two NBC morning show hosts talking around a glass studio table with a TV insert above their heads.

Angus thought, What in the world has happened? He finally got some information when there was a station break and a stranger next to Angus explained that there had been an explosion at one of the twin towers in New York on the lower tip of Manhattan.

The man asked, numb, What has happened to the world?

No answer was required.

Shocked at the occurrence of such a skyscraper tragedy, Angus told himself he really must get moving, or he would miss the funeral. He would not have come if the coach had not died, and now he was on the precipice of missing the funeral altogether. He quickly made his way to the baggage claim area, hoping the Colonial City rental car office would actually be on the airport property because when he made the reservations, price was more of a concern than location.

Hearing a buzz, he noticed a crowd gathered around a second television set, near baggage claim, and heard from one high-pitched voice over all the others that a plane had crashed into the tower. Suddenly, there was a loud collective gasp from the group of television viewers, and the word spread immediately, almost at the speed of light, that a plane had just exploded into the second tower as everyone was watching.

As Angus headed to the car rental booth, he found it incomprehensible that an aircraft could have been allowed to hit any building in Manhattan. How many years had those buildings been there? Angus recalled eating dinner in the revolving restaurant back in the eighties, but the exact year eluded him now. Windows on the World---wonderful food and a stunning view. But despite how impressive it was, time passed without him having a return visit.

Having no time to dwell on the past, Angus hurried on since he had reluctantly committed to deliver a eulogy for the coach. Reluctant, given the precious little time he had available at home, since the service was falling on his fiftieth birthday. Maybe more important was his concern that he could not deliver for his old coach a message that was as inspirational as the coach had been for him.

Making it to the car on this muggy morning in September, he remembered that Savannah summers lasted through October. He turned the car's air-conditioning to full blast, hoping it would dry some of the perspiration soaking the shirt clinging to his body. It was a shirt he had put on for the first time twenty-seven long hours ago. The roar of the AC was so loud in the underpowered car there was no need to attempt listening to the radio. He had nothing to distract him as he drove as fast as he could, arriving at the DeSoto Hilton in twenty-two minutes.

As he checked in, an unusually large group of hotel guests was gathered around a lobby television set. Angus was not amazed how much attention the NYC plane disaster was attracting, but he was frustrated he could not indulge himself, as everyone understood they were watching history being made.

He quickly told the hotel reception person he was in a rush to get to the room that had been guaranteed for him the previous evening. He apologetically explained he would still be out by the originally scheduled check-out time of 11:00 am, but he must get a shower and change of clothes.

Somewhere, words like hotel policy, overbooking, and capacity were sprinkled in with other phrases scripted by some customer-satisfaction organization. Angus was countering with a few expletives about bait and switch and credit card fraud when luckily, a small out-of-service room with a working shower was presented as a compromise, suiting Angus just fine.

Angus was usually vindicated when he conquered his foe in a David-versus-Goliath battle. Today, though, he just felt his reception clerk, Aquila, whose nametag declared in English that he was from Brazil, was just trying to brush him off. But to the victors go the spoils, and all he wanted was a room key.

As soon as Aquila handed Angus the key, Angus was off to the elevator, but he could not resist quickly peeking in the direction of the ever-growing crowd to see if there was any new information. Someone standing five people back from the set said the Pentagon might have also been hit, and at that point, Angus decided he just needed to get a shower and get to the church before hysteria distorted his world as well.

His room was acceptable for its intended purpose. However, the time required to shower and dress always takes longer when one is tired. He needed a few minutes to slow down and review the words he had written for the service.

The hotel's thermometer and clock alternatively flashed ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit and 10:48 am. His rental car's air-conditioning was working overtime to keep him cool, but the thought of delivering the upcoming eulogy was keeping him from anything close to being calm and collected. He arrived at the church where the service was scheduled, and he was not surprised at the large number of cars filling the parking lot. This coach had been an integral fixture of his church for years, and he had coached high school basketball teams from the midsixties late into the nineties.

After a few seconds of calculations in his head, Angus arrived at the conclusion that it had been thirty-three years since he had been inside a church in Savannah. Maybe worse, it had been twenty years since he had set foot in any church until that day, except for maybe a couple of Easter services in the eighties. He knew the church's interior was unique, but he had never been in the Greek Orthodox Church. As he gazed toward the front entrance, he nostalgically recalled his dad's old church and his current lack of a church.

But more surprising to him was, in a millisecond, time turned back to a moment when he was just a young twelve-year-old at Jacob Davis Junior High, a white public school six blocks from his childhood home in Savannah. But then, nobody called it a white school. It just was a school. In those days, only the black schools added an adjective to distinguish them from others. It was a normal way of thinking back then.

Chapter 2

President Kennedy Shot

November 22, 1963, 12:58 pm

Quit it, Mary Lou! young Angus Ross screamed when she kicked him as he was walking past her desk.

Their eighth-grade class had just returned from the gym and was, as usual, having a hard time settling down for the math class taught by Mr. Magoo. The class had created the name for this thin, gangly, nervous Nellie male teacher due to the thick glasses he wore and his relatively poor distant vision.

Math was being taught in a new way, but none of them were sure they even knew how to do it the old way. In addition, the class quickly learned Magoo's poor visual acuity allowed them to get away with murder in the rear of the high-ceilinged classroom since he could not tell who was doing what if they were over fifteen feet from him. Therefore, the class was always rowdy because Mr. McGuire could not control anyone due to his mild-mannered approach to discipline and his inability to see well.

Just as Mary Lou was chiding Angus for his whining ways, a static-filled announcement emanated from the small wooden intercom box mounted over the classroom door. First, the school's principal told them a terrible tragedy had occurred in Dallas just a few minutes before: President Kennedy had been shot. He prayed for the president and the country, and then he announced the student body would be dismissed early.

The voice in the box droned on that until everyone had made arrangements for transportation. The loudspeaker then tuned to the radio so the classes could listen to the radio news announcers positioned in Dallas, New York, and Washington, DC, permitting the students to keep abreast with what was happening in the their country and, maybe more importantly, what was happening to their country.

Angus's dad, Archibald Ross, was the minister of the Independent Presbyterian Church on Bull Street. To Angus, he was always working or preaching. His mom, Nancy, was at home, but he listened to the radio broadcast for about an hour before he was allowed to leave and walk home. Failing to appreciate the magnitude of what had happened in Dallas, he did recognize from the tone of the voices that it was not good.

Arriving at his Ardsley Park home, a post-WWI streetcar suburb of Savannah, he found both of his parents crying. He could not recall seeing either one of them crying before, never mind seeing both of them crying. Even worse, they were unable to stop, even when Angus saw them.

It was frightening, but he had other thoughts dominating his young cerebral cortex that fateful afternoon. Angus had a basketball game scheduled for that evening, but it was canceled, like everything else for the next few days. Angus's dad was scheduled to attend a meeting about a new school opening next September. A group of ministers his dad knew were starting the school from scratch.

Angus was busy willing the meeting to not be canceled as well. Why would everyone cancel critical meetings and ball games? Adults were so difficult to understand. Sure, Angus was focused on his life, the one being disrupted by President Kennedy's death.

Angus knew the new unnamed school's basketball team would be coached by a guy that had told his dad that he wanted Angus to play for him. His dad revealed this to Angus a week before, after his first game of the season for the Jacob Davis Black Panthers.

Archie, as most friends knew him, was honest with Angus. He let Angus know the cost of tuition worried him. Not knowing what tuition was, Angus just hoped his dad could swing the money bit and send him.

Dr. Ross, the theological doctor that wrote sermons instead of prescriptions, was worried. Paying for high school was a new concept. However, even his wife continued to stress the promise of great Christian-based education mentioned by some of the women in her circle.

Apparently, from the best Angus could glean, the new school and coach were talking to several of the best eighth-grade basketball players in the coastal empire. Recruiting was not something Angus understood as he always attended the school closest to his home, but so had everyone else.

The word being spread among the dingy and smelly locker rooms where no eighth graders ever took showers was that the school's founders wanted to build competitive and championship athletic teams. They believed a successful scholastic sports program would establish higher morale for their new school and its students. Morals to be imparted, however, would lead willing parents to pay the tuition.

His dad did go to the meeting as scheduled as the new coach was in town for the interview but was leaving Sunday. When Archibald Ross returned, he was smiling, and Angus's hopes were swelling as well. Suddenly, a distraction overcame Angus as he remembered he needed to ask his dad about taking him to the doctor.

He was frequently waking up with some swelling in his privates. Angus, hearing of hernias from friends, was afraid he could not play basketball if he mentioned it, and he certainly did not want anyone to look at him down there. He was just trying to ignore it. Angus's dad---his mom called him Arch---entered his room with less of a knock than Angus would have preferred and said with a warm smile, Congratulations, son. You're a Crusader now!

Angus knew intuitively that he had made the team, and he assumed Crusaders was their new nickname. At this point, it sounded a lot better to him than being a Tiger at Savannah High School up on Atlantic Avenue. Angus was thrilled, sensing this day held more change in it than maybe all the other days of his life. For him, the excitement of this day was overwhelming, but it never occurred to him to thank his dad.

For Archibald Ross, the excitement was not really an issue. He had heard some great expectations about the school's academics, and he was pleased to hear that four credits of religion were required for graduation. Nancy was supportive despite the financial strain of the tuition. Consequently, the Crusader basketball team was not the reason Angus was being sent to the new school, but that was not apparent to Angus. A parent's prerogative.

The paradigms of change for Angus and his dad were completely focused but were like the opposite ends of a seesaw. There was good news that night regarding the new school, and both were pleased. For most others that night, there was little pleasure in a world turned upside down, but for Angus, while he knew he should feel overwhelming disappointment over the loss of a president, he did not. He could not. He was a Crusader, and that night, that was all he desired.

When his parents went to bed, Angus turned on the TV news, but there were no scores that night, just people talking about the dead president and a new president, with pictures of a flag-draped casket being taken off an airplane. Learning LBJ was back in Washington with Jackie and they all appeared to be crying like his parents did give him pause.

With it being Friday night and there was no school the next day, Angus watched TV until they signed off the air at 11:30 pm, when the national anthem and a waving American flag ended the night's viewing on his black-and-white picture tube. Somewhere along the way, Angus slumbered.

Crusaders and great warriors spent the night struggling in his dreams, marching to wars, yet when he awoke on Saturday, he was fresh, without signs of battles or wars. He felt like a champ, so he went out to shoot some hoops. A fractured concrete driveway underlying the basket tacked to the side of the yellow-framed house was his home court.

Calling the imaginary state championship game in his head, he said, Three, two, one, Ross shoots, and it's gooood! The Crusaders win the state, and look, the entire team and student body are carrying Angus Ross around the court on their shoulders. Tonight, a star is born! And then Angus made the obligatory crowd noise with his mouth, as all boys do.

Chapter 3

Good Words

September 11, 2001, Noon

Angus was seated in the front row of St. Paul's Greek Orthodox Church on Bull Street at the end of the pew on the left side of the church. The casket had just been closed as he started to his seat, and it was twelve feet in front of him and the same distance to his right. It was bronze, and seeing it with the knowledge of his coach inside brought emotion to Angus.

Father Capilos was conducting the service, and following a prayer, he welcomed several of Constantine Pappas's early students and players there to honor his life with their time and words.

Angus's name was called first, and he proceeded to the speaker's podium on a stage overlooking the coffin. Angus was more anxious than expected, and with an unsteady voice, he began, "To start this eulogy honoring the life of Professor Constantine Pappas, I want to explain something that is critical to my message. Eulogy is a word derived from two Greek words, ευ and λογος." Angus held up two legal-size sheets of paper with the Greek words substituting the English words you and logos on the two sheets of paper. "The first word, pronounced like our word you, means 'good,' and logos means 'words or speech.' I come here today with unquestionably good words for this great man. He lifted his hand and gestured in the direction of the casket. I believe he would have expected me to inform you of the Greek origin of my good words, or eulogy."

The covey of mourners gathered were mostly dressed in black for the funeral. The Holy Unction sacrament had been delivered by Father Capilos a few minutes before the coach's death from