He used to practice on the metal flap doors that dotted the sidewalks of Harlem. Tappety-tap-tap-tappety-tip. When it got too cold, he danced in the hallways of nearby apartment buildings. Tappety-tip-tip-tappety-tap. One day, when he was 14, a fellow "hoofer" knocked on his door, said they needed somebody up at the Apollo, quick, let's go. A few breathless minutes later, he was auditioning in the basement of the most famous theater in his universe, just him and his dream and the silver plates on his shoes. Tappety- tappety-tappety-tip!
If I were in charge of baseball, there would be no spring training lockout. I would simply take the two negotiators, Donald Fehr and Chuck O'Connor, stick them in a hotel room, tie them to the bedpost alongside a drooling German Shepherd and have the door hermetically sealed. Then I would inform the world that they had run off to Mexico together. And the players and owners, none of whom really know what's going on anyhow, would shrug and say, "Well, shoot, (spit) heck, (scratch) let's play ball."
EAST LANSING -- To understand George Perles you must first understand the wall in his office. He points to it constantly. Look. The photos. Those famous men, beaming down at him like destiny. Biggie Munn. Duffy Daugherty. Jack Breslin. His ancestors in the athletic department."People may not believe it," he says, gazing at their faces, "but I did what I did because of those guys."
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.