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Meetings with Remarkable People... Brooks Robinson

10/27/2011

When I was a boy I discovered baseball. I was almost five years old when I watched the 1963 World Series and saw the Yankees play the Dodgers for the title. Sandy Koufax, the legendary pitcher for the Dodgers won the Most Valuable Player award after shutting down the Yankees and defeating Yankee great Whitey Ford in Games One and Four. But like every other American boy, I was a fan of Mickey Mantle. The Mick’s stellar career was winding down but, at age five, I had no idea what that meant. Things change, that is a constant.

In 1965, my grandmother was living in Baltimore, MD. One day, a package arrived for me and it was from my grandmother. The parcel contained a baseball sweatshirt and an autographed 8x10 photo. However, the sweatshirt was not of the Yankees and the photo was not Mickey Mantle. Instead, it was a Baltimore Orioles sweatshirt and the photo was signed to me from Orioles’ third baseman Brooks Robinson.

As it happened, the Orioles were playing the Yankees the very next Saturday on ABC’s Game of the Week. Watching that game, I became-then and forever-an Orioles fan and a Brooks Robinson fan. Now, I was only six years old but I had never seen or imagined a player like Brooksie. His fielding was incredible! Sure, he was great with the bat but that glove! I was hooked.

The very next season, 1966, the Orioles went to the World Series against…who? The same Los Angeles Dodgers who had defeated Mick and the Yankees in 1963. The Dodgers had won the 1965 Series, as well, by finishing the Minnesota Twins 4-3. The deadly Sandy Koufax was once again the MVP. But ’66 was going to be different…

I can remember rushing home from school to watch the day games. My mother would have the television set turned on, tuned to the station broadcasting the games, and waiting for me.

It was an unbelievable Series. The Orioles crushed the powerful Dodgers 4-0; a sweep! It was the Orioles’ first World Series victory in franchise history. In Game One, Brooks and Frank Robinson hit back to back home runs. A remarkable young rookie and future Hall of Fame pitcher named Jim Palmer closed out Koufax’s career by handing him a 6-0 shutout loss in Game Two and Dave McNally defeated Don Drysdale 1-0 in the fourth and final game. Exciting stuff!

I continued watching Brooks Robinson every season until his retirement in 1977 and Brooks had played every game of his career in an Orioles uniform. Let me just brag on him a bit. He had won 16 consecutive Gold Glove Awards, , had played in 18 All-Star games, and he had been in the World Series in 1966, 1969, 1970 and 1971. The Orioles had won the Series in ’66 and ’70. He had won the American League MVP in 1964 and was World Series MVP in 1970. He was chosen to the Major League All-Century Team and his number (#5) was retired by the Orioles, never again to be worn by any other Oriole player.

This was and is my favorite athlete of all time in any sport. More than Magic Johnson, more than Merlin Olsen… Brooks stands alone.

In 1987, I got to meet him…

I had been collecting baseball cards for years. In 1985-86, my pal David and I had taken it to a new level. We both had decent paying jobs and we could really get into some serious card buying. He was a Carl Yastrzemski fan which meant that he and I never competed for the same cards. He could have all the Red Sox cards he desired and I would never fight him for them. Ever. He felt the same way about my Orioles.

In 1987, we got the opportunity to go to a baseball card exhibition in Tampa.

And…Brooks…Robinson…was…there…

Even David wanted Brooksie’s autograph. I got Brooks to sign an 8x10 photo for me, autographed the very same way he had done back in ’65 for me through my grandmother. As an aside, when I told my grandmother that I had gotten Brooks to sign a photo for me, her response was: “Why? Didn’t I give you one in 1965?” She didn’t see the need for a second one.

He was everything you could have hoped he would be: gracious, engaging, a true gentlemen. When the crowds died away, I got to speak with Brooks semi-privately. We both bemoaned the Orioles’ woes at third base at that time. They had had almost 100 errors at third base over the last two seasons. We got to discuss players and managers, past and present.

He had enjoyed making the 1966 Sports Illustrated cover with Frank Robinson and the caption reading “The Robinsons of Baltimore.” He said that in the 1970 Series (after he had made that amazing grab which carried him way over the third base foul line to throw out Cincinnati’s Lee May at fist) that as May was heading back to the Reds’ dugout, he shouted at Brooks, “I just put you on the permanent highlight reel!” Which was true. Ironically, Lee May would join Brooks on the Orioles’ roster in 1975.

Brooks still seemed shocked at the results of the 1969 World Series loss to the New York Mets. I still have newspaper clippings of that Series. I told him the story of my grandmother getting his autograph and he laughed, saying “Yeah, all the grandmothers liked me. The younger ones all went for Jim Palmer, especially after his underwear ad.”

He was very impressed with a young Orioles shortstop named Cal Ripken, Jr. “He’s actually a third baseman, you know,” he said. “Weaver decided to play him at short. And why not? The kid had come to the ballpark with his dad (Orioles’ Third Base Coach, Cal Ripken, Sr.) and was always learning from (shortstop) Mark Belanger. It was a great move.”

Regarding the great Orioles manager Earl Weaver, Brooks said that he never had any problems with Weaver. “I never gave him a reason to be angry! I batted in the lineup wherever he told me. I positioned myself where he told me.”

He told me stories of Boog Powell and Davey Johnson, Paul Blair and Andy Etchebarren—all Oriole greats. It only occurred to me later that he was more comfortable speaking of others that of himself. In doing so, however, he told me so much about himself.

He was sincerely interested in other people. He had asked me questions about myself and he was interested. He enjoyed people. He had spoken of players, managers, owners, and umpires. In 1976, Umpire Ron Luciano had said, “I don’t care who wins, as long as it’s not Earl Weaver.” Brooks still laughed about that.

He loved baseball. He quoted Ted Williams who, after his retirement, had said that he didn’t miss the travel or the practices but he missed baseball. And baseball misses Brooks Robinson. At least, I do. He was called “Mr. Oriole,” a title which he bequeathed to Cal Ripken, Jr. upon Cal’s retirement.

That was Brooks Robinson, exactly as I had hoped. He was a gentleman eager to speak well of others while never uttering a negative word about anyone, not even Pete Rose who was standing in the hallway outside.

More interested in others than in himself. Now that’s a hero.

© copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

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Meetings with Remarkable People... "Papa Lou" Maser

10/22/2011

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When I was 16 years old, I took a music class at Indian River State College (formerly Indian River Community College). It was a Music Appreciation class and the professor was Louis Maser, a 1938 graduate of the University of Kansas. I never did find out what took him to Kansas for music.

He was a brilliant music teacher. He was a renowned trumpet player but his piano lessons were widely sought-after. He was hilarious, he was charming, and he was one of the finest chess players I ever met.

In his private lessons, he was patient and he was kind. I was not a good musician but he always said "If you could only get your fingers to co-operate with your heart." So, it was he that encouraged me to study music literature with the same passion I had for history and philosophy. "The piano may never reveal your heart but the pen certainly will. Make others feel what you feel by your words about the music!"

So, I wound up for a time following his advice about writing on music. I wrote for my high school and college newspapers and wrote a lot of concert and record reviews. Why did I ever stop?

In his college classroom, he served up musical delicacies that thrill me to this very day. Sure, we heard all the stuff from Bach and Mozart and the rest and I enjoyed listening to the music and watching him diagram the music. He played for us Saint-Saens and Sibelius, Shostakovitch and Smetana, Michaud and Mahler, Grieg and Glinka and so many others I had never heard.

More than this, however, he began telling the personal stories of these great and sometimes not-so-great composers.

The French composer Lully, for example, had spent most of his career working for King Louis XIV. In those days, the conductor was not more than a time-keeper and they used a long staff instead of the later baton. They would beat out the time on the floor using this big staff. Lully was conducting a Te Deum in celebration of Louis XIV’s recent recovery from illness. During the performance, Lully struck his big toe with the heavy staff. The wound turn gangrenous and Lully died from it. No wonder they invented the baton. “Conducting is dangerous stuff!” Maser proclaimed.

With stories like that, I became intrigued with the composers as people and not just as music-writers. He told of Brahms being raised in a brothel. Beethoven was beaten by his father to make the young Ludwig play for the old man’s drunken friends. Wagner married Liszt’s daughter. Handel and Scarlatti used to have harpsichord and organ contests between themselves.

He especially loved to talk about Joseph Haydn. His favorite re-telling was how Mozart and Beethoven had called him “Papa” Haydn. Maser even seemed to get a little misty-eyed when discussing it. After studying with him for the next two or three years, a couple of other students and I decided to call him “Papa Lou” Maser. So help me, the old guy had to wipe tears away and just said, “Bless you boys.”

© copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

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Meeting Remarkable People... Al Jarreau

10/10/2011

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I once received a phone call from an old friend of mine very late one night. “Travis,” she began, “Do you know who Al Jarreau is?” “Yeah,” I answered, “He’s only the greatest living male jazz vocalist. (Long pause) Why?” I had a weird feeling in my stomach.

“Well, I was at a party tonight and he was there,” she told me. “How were you at a party with Al Jarreau??? Whose party was it?” “Oh, this guy named Steve was having a birthday party,” she said. “I know his wife.”

You know what the next question had to be and you can bet I asked it. “What is Steve’s last name?” Her answer was as bad as I expected. “Gadd. Steve Gadd.” How did she do it? How did she get into all these places and meet all these people? A word about her. She is the most sincere, honest, and absolutely charming person you could ever hope to meet. She is innocent and she is delightful. “Anyway,” she continued (Sure, “anyway.” Setting me up that the guest list is only the preamble to the story), “I was in the middle of these people and they were talking about music. They mentioned jazz music. ‘Ewww,’ I said, ‘I don’t like jazz.’”

Oh, my God. She was in a party at Steve Gadd’s house, with Al Jarreau in attendance (and Lord knows who else!) and she says that she doesn’t like jazz. Great. I wasn’t even there and I’m embarrassed. But she kept up the pain injections by going on with her story.

So, “this nice looking man” asked her if she liked the album that was playing at the moment. She said that she did. He smiled and nodded and said, “This is jazz.” Later, another album was on by “some band called spiral something.” I asked if she meant The Spiral Staircase and she said that it wasn’t them “it was…Oh! Spiral Gyro!” I groaned, “That would be Spyro Gyra.” “Yeah, that’s them,” she went on, “so this nice man asked me if I liked that album and I said I did and he smiled and nodded and said ‘jazz.’”

She said this went on all night. Finally she asked his name and he said “Al Jarreau.” “What do you do?” she asked him. He smiled and nodded and said “jazz.”

It was not long after that when my younger sister and I went to see Al Jarreau in concert at the Sunrise Musical Theater near Fort Lauderdale, FL. He had just released the album entitled “High Crime,” had won four Grammy Awards for Look to the Rainbow, All Fly Home and two for Breakin’ Away (as Best Male Jazz Vocalist and Best Male Pop Vocalist). His popularity was immense.

The concert was great which, of course, need not even be said. I sat in the audience and saw two of my favorite musicians take the stage; Abraham Laboriel (bass) and Alex Acuna (drums). It was a great band and, as I said, a great show.

After the concert, I waited around back where the musicians exit after whatever-they-do-after-a-concert. At that same backstage door I had met Jon Anderson (then of YES), Clem Clempson (Humble Pie, Bakerloo, etc.), David Sancious (E Street Band and Tone) and some others. After everyone else had left, fans and stagehands and performers alike, I decided to drive around to the front where, sure enough, he had just gotten into a car with his wife, who would be driving. We politely asked to say hello for a moment and he was as completely gracious as one could hope.

His wife was having trouble with the headlamp switch and my sister helped her with it. During that time, I got to speak with Al Jarreau. I told him that I once heard Chick Corea refer to him as “The Voice.” He laughed his quiet, sweet laugh and said “Chick is the best. I love that man. I would work with Chick any chance I could ever get.” I asked him what he liked about working with Chick Corea and he smiled at me and said, “You get to have fun with Chick. In fact, he requires it.”

I told him, “I can never tell you what your music has meant to me.” He stood up out of the car and hugged me. “And I can never tell you what that means to me,” he said.

My sister came around the car and asked him for a kiss, which he allowed. Then he smiled and looked me in the eye and said, “None for you.”

© copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

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Meeting Remarkable People... Richard Harris

10/8/2011

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In 1984, Richard Harris was reprising on stage his movie role of King Arthur in the musical Camelot. It was one of my favorite films (and plays) of all time. Of course, there was the Jacqueline Kennedy association of Camelot with the JFK administration and I have always been infatuated with the Kennedy legacy; Jack, Bobby and Teddy. However, it began before I even became aware of that association.

When I was a boy, I heard Richard Burton singing the theme from Camelot on the television and I was hooked. I was taken by Burton himself, definitely by the music, and most assuredly by the story of King Arthur.

When the movie musical was released, I went to the movies to see it over 30 times. I’m not saying I paid for 30 tickets because I sat through 2-3 showings of it whenever I could. Burton and Harris had become my favorite actors and when I finally got to see Burton play the role in Miami Beach in 1980 or ’81, I was able to compare and contrast their different approaches to the role. Harris was wonderful as the boy king and Burton, as one might expect, was staggering as the tragic king. So, imagine my delight to finally have the chance to see Richard Harris on stage in 1984 after Richard Burton had sadly passed away while about begin filming The Wild Geese II.

After the final curtain call of the performance in Dallas, I exited the theatre and went to the back door where the actors would probably be leaving. I waited excitedly with my playbill and program in hand, hoping to get his autograph on the program as I had done with Richard Burton. I was young.

After what seemed so long, and most of the others who had been waiting had disappeared, Harris comes out and I said, “Good evening, Mr. Harris. May I have your autograph?” He smiled and took my pen and the program. Then I realized that I had a great opportunity right before me. There were some questions that I wanted to ask, and since no one else was pressing for his attention, why not?

I began with, “Can I ask you who is your favorite actress to work with? Sorry to end a sentence with a preposition” (Yes, I actually said that). He chuckled and then paused. “You know,” he answered, “you might be surprised when I tell you that it is Bo Derek.” He had starred with her in Tarzan just three years before.

I asked why she was his choice and he told me “She has no ego about camera angles and what makes her look good. Of course, she is ravishingly beautiful and she has no bad angles but she took direction so well and she was just so unpretentious and sweet. I would work with her again in a moment! But,” he continued, “the movie was very disappointing. It was just cut to death. A real tragedy, I think.”

At this point, he sat down on a low wall and motioned for me to sit beside him. I sat.

“How long had you and Richard Burton been wanting to work together when you did The Wild Geese?” I ventured. “Actually, we had never even met!” he told me. “And when we did meet, we exchanged many stories about people that we knew but we came to a startling revelation: we realized that all we knew of the previous 20 years of our lives was based on what others had told us. We had been such drunks that we had no first-hand memory, just memories of others’ stories about us. That’s tragic!” He continued by telling me that right there and then, on the set of The Wild Geese, they shook hands and made a pact to never drink again.

He reached toward the playbill, “Do you want me to sign that, too?”

“Thank you, yes,” I answered him.

I hesitated to ask if the promise had been kept but I didn’t have to ask at all because he went on with, “And you know, I went to see him [Burton] do Camelot in Chicago almost two years ago. I went backstage, before the show, into his dressing room. Do you know what was sitting on his dressing room table? A can of Diet Pepsi. We had both kept the pact.”

All this time, since we had sat, he had one leg crossed over the other and he leaned upon his knee. While he was telling the story, he had the look of enjoying a cherished memory. I still have that image in my mind and it makes me wish that I were a painter.

When we stood up to part company, he clapped me on the shoulder and said, “I have enjoyed this tremendously.” Then he patted my check and said, “Good lad.”

© copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

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Meeting Remarkable People: Sam Sasser

10/2/2011

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Sam Sasser

One of the most remarkable characters I have ever known was Sam Sasser. He was a friend and colleague with an incredible background. There are so many stories to tell of dear Sam.

He once told me that when he was around ten years
old, his father had decided to take Sam and his brother on a fishing trip. They were in northern California and Sam’s dad had to stop off at a ranger station to ask information or directions or something.

While their father was out of the car, Sam and his brother decided to walk around and explore the open
area. Soon, Sam’s brother came running around to Sam and said, “Quick! Grab the fishing poles! There are huge fish in this pond back here!” Sam and his brother geared up and went fishing.

When their dad came looking for them, he came around to where they were and broke into a run toward them shouting, “No-o-o-o! Throw them back! Throw them back!”

“Look, Dad!” Sam cheerfully called to his father. “This is a great fishing hole!”

The ranger came to where they were hearing their dad was in a panic. As it turned out, they had happened upon a fish hatchery. The fine for each fish was $10,000. They had to put back all the beautiful fish, much to their great disappointment. The ranger then said, “I will let the both of you cast once and only once. If you catch nothing on that cast, then you get nothing. If you catch something, you can keep it as long as you keep your mouths shut about it.”

They each made their cast and each pulled in a large fish. They were overjoyed. All their dad could say was, “Those fish nearly cost me $60,000… Those fish nearly cost me $60,000…”

Sam loved baseball. He had been drafted out of high school by the San Diego Padres and played for their club in the Pacific Coast League. In his first and only season, Sam led the league in number of hits and batting average. I think those records stood well into the 1980’s.

Once, Sam and I were driving with a worship minister and she posed this question to us. “If you could do anything, achieve anything, in the world…what would you choose?”

Sam said, “Oh, I suppose it would be to make sure that I was always in the Lord’s will and that I lived according to His complete purpose.” “Wow,” she responded. “And you, Travis?”

“Easy answer.” I said. “Hit the series-winning walk-off homer in the American League Championship for my Orioles against the New York Yankees.” Her response: “What?? That’s
it??”

Sam’s response: “Oh, man! I want to change my answer!”

After a year in baseball, however, Sam gave it all up and decided to become a missionary. He was ordained and went into missionary work, primarily in the Marshall Islands. His exploits there are truly legendary.

Eyewitnesses told of Sam’s arrival at one of the Marshall Islands and being greeted with hostility by the local shaman. It is said that the shaman addressed Sam with the words, “I know why you are here. Can your God cause you to do THIS?” and the man began to levitate.

Sam’s answer was, “I know that He can bring you down.” And the shaman dropped 10 feet to the ground. In so doing, Sam had everyone’s attention.

Now, I should tell you that Sam never once told me that story. It was told by others and I don’t know if I believe it but it is a legend worth telling again because it speaks of his larger-than-life status in the Marshall Islands.

Also while serving in the Marshalls, Sam’s boat had wrecked and he was forced to reach the shore by walking along the coral reefs that he knew like the back of his hand. The coral cut through his shoes and tore up the soles of his feet. As a result, the coral actually ate away the bones in his feet and replaced them with coral. For the rest of his life, Sam had to wear what he called his “Frankenstein shoes” because of his need for the extra padding. He had suffered from coral poisoning and would eventually require dialysis three times a week for the rest of his life. He had also lost an eye and was required to wear a glass eye.

Years after he retired from missionary work, he accepted the pastorship of Fountain Gate Church in Plano, Texas. Not only did he become the pastor of the church but also the president of the associated Bible college and headmaster of the K-12 school.

One day, he was passing through the halls of the school and had to stop off at the restroom. The only restroom close enough was the boys’ room and, since classes were in session, he decided to duck into it quickly. However, as Sam sat in the stall, he heard the 1st grade boys coming in for their bathroom break. “Oh, great,” he thought.

One of the boys, named Tommy, recognized Sam’s “Frankenstein shoes” and called into the stall, “Dr. Sam? Is that you, Dr. Sam?” “Yes, Tommy,” Sam answered. “It’s me.”

The next thing Sam knew, Tommy was sliding under the stall door on his back. He had lain down on the bathroom floor, gripped the bottom of the stall door and pulled himself so as to slide right between Sam’s shoes, while looking up at the astonished Sam.

“Tommy?!?!” Sam exclaimed. “Hi, Dr. Sam!” was Tommy’s cheerful greeting. “Hey, Dr. Sam! Can I see your glass eye?” Tommy asked unabashedly.

“Tommy,” Sam replied, “let me get out and wash my hands first.” “Sure, Dr. Sam!” Tommy said.

Sam finished up and washed his hands at the boys’ room sink. Tommy waited patiently until finally Sam was finished. Tommy asked for the eye again.

“Brave kid,” thought Sam, and he took out the glass eye and handed it to the expectant 1st grader. When the boy got the glass eye in his hand, he bolted from the restroom and Sam could hear the girls shrieking as Tommy chased them down the hall waving Sam’s glass eye at them. Sam pursued as fast as he could, calling “Tommy! Give me my eyeball!”

With the girls sufficiently horrified, Tommy gratefully returned the eye to Sam’s outstretched hand. As Sam turned to go wash off the eye, one of the teachers was standing in the hall. She was shaking her head in amazement.

“Of all the strange things I have heard in this hallway,” she stated, “the strangest has to be: ‘Tommy! Give me my eyeball!’”

When Sam was still a missionary, he had flown into Papua-New Guinea on a small plane that landed him on a mountaintop airstrip where he was greeted by three tribesmen who were going to serve as guides and help him with his baggage.

As they wound down the mountain trails, Sam remembered hearing stories about cannibal tribes in New Guinea. He tired to sound bold and curious instead of sheepish and frightened when he asked the leader, “I heard that this country had cannibals even until recently.” The leader said that this was correct and that, in fact, the man directly behind Sam had come from a tribe of cannibals.

Sam turned to look at the man who was smiling broadly. Sam smiled but then heard the second man say, “Yes. Missionary was our favorite meal.” Sam got very quiet and remained so until all three of the accompanying men burst into raucous laughter.

Sam told me, “Sure, I felt like a fool but I was a relieved fool!”

I had actually taught a seminar for Sam at Fountain Gate College in Plano, TX. Sam was in Luzon when I arrived there and so my accommodations were handled by someone else. Instead of being booked into a hotel, I was housed with a family with three daughters. I was given the middle (probably 12-13 years old) daughter’s room to sleep in and was surrounded by dolls and teddy bears and slept in a frilly canopied bed.

The family turned in early so I decided to watch a little television downstairs. I think I was watching a M*A*S*H rerun when the father (probably my age) came downstairs and asked me to turn the volume down. I apologized profusely and turned the volume way-y-y-y down to where I had to sit on the floor about four feet from the screen.

Sure enough, the father returned about three minutes later. “Look,” he said, “You’re keeping us awake. Can you please turn it down?” More apologies and I turned the volume down so low—I’m not kidding—that I had to sit directly in front of the television to hear it.

Again the father returned as said, “It is just way too loud.” After round three of the apologies, I turned off the television and went upstairs to bed. However, being a late night person, I was not at all ready for sleep and so I pulled out Henry Kissinger’s book Diplomacy (ironic, isn’t it?).

Within five minutes the father rapped on my door then opened it with a jerk and said—wait for it!—“The light from under the door is keeping everyone up. Can you just go to sleep?! Sheesh! Next time I’m only going to house guys over 60!” Off to his room he stormed.

As quietly as humanly possible, I got dressed, packed up, and crept downstairs and out the front door where I used a pay phone (there were payphones in those days) to call a taxi who would take me to a nearby hotel. The next morning, I called Sam’s assistant to report where I was. She was mortified and, when Sam got back later that day, Sam was furious.

At least I got a good story from it…

A year later, Sam had resigned from there to accept the Chancellor’s position at Beacon College in Columbus, GA. He wanted me to come along to fill the chair of Church History and Theology. I accepted and moved to Columbus, GA where Sam served for only eight months.

Sam’s health began to suffer and his doctor told him to quit the position. Sam left in March of that year and I was gone by August. I never got to see Sam again. He died, still waiting for a kidney transplant, only a short time later.

So many things I still had left to tell him. So many questions that were still unasked.

Sam was a joker and probably still is. About two weeks after Sam had died, my friend Don
James had a dream about Sam. In the dream, Sam was dressed in a jogging suit with regular sneakers. He looked young and very healthy, Don said. However, Sam had a worried look on his face when he walked close to Don and said sadly, “Don, I had a look at the Book of Life… and your name is not there.” Sam turned to walk away, then quickly turned back to Don and pointed at him with a grin and said, “Gotcha!”

I don’t know about such things, but if anyone could reach from beyond and make a friend laugh, it was Sam Sasser.

When Sam Sasser died in 1995, the Legislature of the Marshall Islands proclaimed a resolution establishing Sam Sasser Day. His wife, Flo Sasser, sent me a copy of the two-page Resolution. It is something I cherish as I do the memory of Sam.

© copyright 2011. Travis Rogers, Jr. All rights reserved.

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Meeting Remarkable People: Paul Lehmann, part three

9/30/2011

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I was sitting in Professor Lehmann's office one day and we were speaking of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He told me of the time that Bonhoeffer had come to the United States to do post-graduate work at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. Bonhoeffer decided to get a drivers' license and Lehmann was taking him to the Drivers' License Bureau to take the test and get his license.

When Bonhoeffer came back to where Lehmann was sitting, he was exasperated. "I failed the test! I have never failed a test in my life," he marveled.
Lehmann asked, "Did you slip the guy $5?" Bonhoeffer was stunned and shocked.
"A bribe?" he almost shouted. "I would never do such a thing!"
"Then, " said Lehmann, "you will never get a driver's license."

Bonhoeffer was determined that he would get it on his merits and not on a $5 bribe. So, he took the test again...and failed. "Slip him a five," was Lehmann's on-going counsel.

A third test was taken. This time, Bonhoeffer came out to Lehmann and exclaimed in triumph, "I passed the test!"

"Of course, you did," was Lehmann's calm reply. "I gave the guy $5 myself."

© copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

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Meeting Remarkable People: Paul Lehmann, part two

9/12/2011

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Speaking of Karl Barth and Paul Lehmann, Barth had completed his massive work Church Dogmatics and was speaking of it when Paul Lehmann was in his office one day. "I wonder what the angels think of my theology," Barth mused. "Karl," said Lehmann," the angels are the only ones with time enough to read your theology!" Lehmann said Barth just grunted and concluded, "You're probably right."

I think one of the things that always impressed me most was Paul Lehmann's ability to think on behalf of others. It is a characteristic I am still trying to develop. I am thinking of his final work entitled The Decalogue and a Human Future; Keeping Human Life Human. In that wonderful book he says that the Decalogue (or 10 Commandments) should be read as descriptive and not prescriptive; that is, it was never meant to be a list of rules but, rather, a source of judging oneself. The worry is not over breaking the Commandments but the Commandments reveal a brokenness inside of us which must be confronted and healed.

Truly, I don't mind breaking rules but what is difficult is to admit that I am broken in some way and my contrary behavior reveals that.

Lehmann addresses the Commandment regarding murder and he faces the question of abortion head-on. "Is abortion a sin?", he asks. "Yes, it is," he answers, "but the sin is not the mother's--it is our sin." We are guilty because we have judged and abandoned and robbed hope and comfort.

Paul Lehmann was a fire-breathing liberal; politically, socially and theologically. He gently challenged and corrected my categorical thinking. It is has been 16 years since he left us and I miss him every day.

© copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

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Meeting Remarkable People: Paul Lehmann

9/11/2011

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In the course of my life and certainly in the course of my academic career, I have had wonderful opportunities to meet with amazing people. The man on whom I would like to make my first entry is Paul Louis Lehmann (1907-1994). He had taught at Princeton, Harvard and Union Theological Seminary (both New York and Richmond). I was fortunate to have met him while was a visiting professor at Vanderbilt University Graduate Department of Religion.

We struck up an instant and amazing friendship. I would have lunch with him and we even went to the movies together. He hated Chariots of Fire, citing "all that God and King nonsense." When I would decline to go with friends to an event, the joke was always "Oh, Travis is dating Paul Lehmann."

He gave me insights to Dietrich Bonhoeffer that no book ever has and he told splendid stories of great theologians whom he had known. One of my favorites was regarding the great Karl Barth who told Paul that "theologians don't read the scriptures!"

I was struck by the comment then and it still remains. Others had thought it was a joke but I was intrigued and I asked my dear professor about it. "What did he mean, do you think?" he asked me. I replied that it is probably because the scriptures aren't very good theology. He slowly nodded his head. They are inspirational. They are an insight into cultures and personalities but they are not the best theology.

Perhaps that is where my interest in scriptures began to change. That is when I realized that it was the mind and experiences of the authors that really fascinated me. That is where my anthropological theology began.

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Meetings with Remarkable People

Travis Rogers, Jr.

From early in his life, Travis decided to follow a life of study, teaching and writing. In studying the ancient languages required for doctoral work, he became fascinated with the cultures themselves and the worldwide search for and reflection of the Divine. Travis is interested in people and what draws them together. It has been an interested quest, especially in the study of music as a "universal language."

Meetings with Remarkable People

Travis Rogers, Jr.

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