From: TomCrouser@aol.com
Date: Wed, 19 Jun 1996 11:35:31 -0400
Subject: It Ain t Over Till It s Over.
Content-Length: 8971
X-UIDL: 835199855.000

Crouser Report OnLine Copyright 1996 Thomas P. Crouser, June 19, 1996 -
Material may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written
consent of the copyright holder.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****


Family Print Shops: From the Worst of Times to the Best of Times.

 I will be
discussing this topic during NAQP s Next Generation session immediately
following the NAQP general sessions (July 15th). Hope to see you there. More
info contact NAQP or see your registration packet. Tom
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
It Ain t Over Till It s Over.
Transmitted from Folkston, Georgia

Pamela and I had traveled last Saturday to the Hudson Valley region of New
York State in preparation for a Monday visit to an area print shop. We
enjoyed Father s Day with a visit to Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt s estate
at Hyde Park and the many towns in the area, whose names, it seemed, all
ended in kill. Fishkill, Peekskill, Valkill, Catskill. Comes from the Dutch
and means stream. I guess you were wondering as I was. We dined along the
river bank (Foodkill?) and headed back to the hotel where I put my feet up
(Feetskill?) and was thinking about preparing a message for you. Pamela
called her father to wish him, 

Happy Father s Day

 and I immediately knew
something was wrong.



What do you mean they have taken Mother to the hospital?

 Pamela s call
occurred moments after her Mother was transported to the small hospital in
Folkston, Georgia by an emergency crew. 

They think it is a heart attack.


she said to no one as she quickly pounded the telephone s buttons. For some
reason, I was concerned but not worried. Her parents live less than a minute
away from the emergency room. Her mother was alert and talking. And, besides,
it happened too fast for the life-threatening nature of the event to sink in.
Her immediate follow-up call to the emergency room was devastating. The voice
said, 

You re Mother had a massive heart attack and we did all we could.




What do you mean?

 Pamela said while looking directly into the telephone s
receiver. She appeared to be trying to make eye contact with someone. To
challenge them. To dare them. To prevent them from saying what came next.


She didn t make it.



Janice Collins Keith was born and raised in West Virginia, but like so many
from our state, followed her husband s search for work to Jacksonville,
Florida after Bill s tour of duty in Korea ended. Work was scarce back home
for the veterans as the coal mines mechanized, but it was not impossible to
find. I think the real reason they left was to get away from the generations
of hardships so natural in our hills and so common to their families.  After
a few years of success in Jacksonville, they moved to Folkston, Georgia,
almost a suburb, where Bill s company took on a new project.

Folkston, the county seat of Charlton County, is where Janice grew roots. The
First Baptist Church became her second home. Substitute teaching became her
avocation and she eventually found herself with a permanent job in the county
schools. Part of her root growing which most of her West Virginia cousins
would say went awry was her adoption of things Georgian as her own. She
actually became a fan of the Atlanta Braves losing all sense of historical
perspective with her station in life as holding a legacy tied to the
Cincinnati Reds. I suspect she and her father, a lifelong baseball fan, are
discussing this very waywardness on her part right now in a special part of
Heaven set aside for sports fans.

But a more important part of this affliction was her unusual attachment for
the boys who come to made up the University of Georgia football team. Fact
was she became awfully rowdy at times. No one from miles around who weren t
fellow fans could bear her enthusiasm for the Bulldogs when they won the
national championship. In more recent years, she bit her lip and was somewhat
subdued among the fans of such late bloomers as the University of Florida and
Florida State. My favorite memory of her of all time had to do with watching
the 1996 Peach Bowl where the University of Georgia played the University of
Virginia. I was allowed into the room although I was greatly suspect by being
from West Virginia which is mightily close to Virginia. I even got the sense
that those boys from Virginia were somehow considered Yankees by the deep
Georgia traditionalists. I would catch Janice inspecting my reactions when
Georgia did something good or Virginia something bad.

I m sure you don t remember the game. Virginia got off to a 21-7 lead going
into the final quarter. Georgia got the ball and methodically marched up the
field to make it 21-14. She sort of smiled, but was still real quiet. Then,
Virginia, was stopped on the next possession and Georgia began another long
march Down near the 20 yard line, she was getting rowdy. And, if almost as if
God were trying to be cruel to her, Georgia fumbled the football and Virginia
recovered with less than two minutes to go. She slumped in her chair which
she had positioned to over look the television much in the same way that Ted
Turner s private box overlooks Fulton County Stadium. All Virginia had to do
was to sit on the ball and the game would be over. God struck again. The
Virginia quarterback rolled back to his own 10 yard line and passed right
into the numbers of a Georgia jersey on the 23. In a flash, all changed. Life
began anew. The Georgia back smelled the end zone and would not be denied. He
would not be denied when the first Virginia player hit him. He would not be
denied when the second bounced off. Nor would he buckle under the weight of a
third and fourth as he drove determinably into the end zone for a game tying
touchdown with 32 seconds left to play.

That s when Janice began her parade. She kicked down the foot rest on her
overstuffed La-z-boy and leaped into the center of the living room with her
red terry cloth robe and floppy slippers flaying in full southern righteous
indignation. Her short, overstuffed frame began to holler, 

Whew-We! It Ain t
Over Til It s Over! Them Georgia Bulldogs Never Say Never.

 She began
clapping her hands as a symbolist would smash together their oversized ovals
of noise in a marching band. 

It Ain t Over Til It s Over!

 There was only 32
seconds left on the clock. 

No Sir, Never Count Georgia Out! It Ain t Over
Til It s Over!

 Georgia lines up for a perfunctory kick off to the Yankee
upstarts from Virginia. 

It Ain t Over Till It s Over.

 There s the kick.
Janice is still parading. 

Georgia Bulldogs Never Give Up! Don t You Ever
Count Bulldogs Out!

  Virginia takes the ball on their 20. 

Another Great
Georgia Game! Whew-We!

 He crosses the 30 and is out to the 40. 

It ain t
over til. . . .

 she stops mid-step and glances back to the screen. 

Isn t
someone going to tackle that boy?

 she asked. Her mouth dropped further as he
made it to the Georgia 40, then 30. She began chanting, 

Get Him! Get Him!


 She hollered 

Get Him

 as he crossed the 20, the 15 and the 5. She stopped
only as he crossed the goal. Yes, in 32 seconds of playing time, Janice went
from the joy of victor to the agony of the vanquished. I wasn t going to
smile nor say nothing and, if you re smart, you might wanta wipe that little
smirk off of your face too  cause she was that kind of fan.

Janice retired two weeks ago from Bethune Elementary School. Her retirement
party was exceptional. All her friends on the school s faculty and staff
signed a terra cotta planter with cherry retirement messages. The children
all permanently endowed an umbrella with their hand prints which immediately
became her most prized and honored possession. Yesterday, three of the
grandchildren made a heart out of blueberries over under the oak tree in her
immaculate backyard and had their own service for their grandmother.

I guess I should make my point. We all are involved in a life style business
from which we must take the time and the money to support our lives now. None
of us have any guarantees. There s not a pot of gold at the end of the
rainbow. So, if there s something wrong  in our life or our business, we need
to fix it now. We can t afford to wait till sometime in the future. I was
reminded of that this week and thought I would pass it along. And, God, I
guess you d better plan on some pretty rowdy football Saturdays from now on,
especially when Georgia is playing. Cause, It s Not Over Till It s Over.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****