Each and every late afternoon finds Charlie and me turning for home at our bike-route midpoint, just beyond the confines of a golf course designed by the legendary architect A.W. Tillinghast. We often pass caddies making their way from the club in carpools or hoofing it toward public transportation; additional mileage after long hot days spent trolling the fairways and bulrushes with golf bags parked on both shoulders. I can relate: for years I “looped” at a different Tillinghast course, perhaps his most imaginative layout of all and a place where—albeit in that freer dispensation between Watergate and oh, roughly Iran-Contragate—loopers might find themselves invited to play a quick nine holes with members, in addition to the customary Monday golf privilege (summer Monday nights seemed to fall 4-5 times weekly as I recall. And no bib overall dress code for us: free the loopers!).
I hadn’t touched a golf club in five years or so til yesterday, when I found myself with best pal Barry teeing it up at the course operated by the only State University named for not a state but a soldier-politician. To my astonishment, each and every time I swung a stick at a spheroid the ball took flight, though rarely along the aerial pathway I visualized. Off the tenth tee I lost sight of its ascent entirely: when asked Barry replied, woods on the left; when pressed as to how deeply he responded: pretty deep. It was then—as I dropped a ball in the fairway to save us time and effort—that Barry offered his appreciation for the witness borne each and every day by Dr. Chew, over here.
Barry is a wonderfully insightful and appreciative reader who marveled at Kristina’s unique blend of creativity and relentless industry. I don’t know how she does it, I confessed to Barry; all I know is a post has appeared each and every day for—and then it him me—for five years! Five years as of this month just passed, which means, by the customary standards of my signature “lag” this love and gratitude-laden tribute finds us way out in front! Thanks Barry and thanks always Maughey for showing and teaching how and why the ‘daily witness’ is integral to the daily witness: showing up for life proves possible even for the slacker likes of us bi-monthly bloggers.
And while we’re here let’s please mark the passing—twenty-six years ago yesterday, July 1, 1984, of the waterfront priest, John M. “Pete” Corridan, S.J. If On the Irish Waterfront bears witness to the arduous process of constructing a historical narrative–from the raw materials of archival holdings, contexts, facts and details and interpretation—that (inter) discipline was acquired over here, slowly with missteps aplenty (what, me peaceful/easy?); looping a-bike with Charlie each and every.