THE HYPHEN

THE HYPHEN

By Duncan 

I found an open pew at Bethel United Methodist Church in Indianapolis on a Saturday morning as the service was about to begin. 

Bob Mason, a high school classmate of mine, had been moved to hospice. I considered him a friend, and I believe he considered me a friend, too. When a person is moved to hospice, it usually means the end of life is near. Not always, but in most cases, hospice is the last move we make before we surrender to the unknown. This concept of 'surrendering to the unknown' makes me ponder my own life.  

A week later, I received a call from John Etchison, another 1962 high school classmate.  He took a deep breath and hesitated. I knew what he was about to say. Bob had passed. The service arrangements, or the Celebration of Life as it’s called these days, will be announced when more information is available. 

The Celebration was set to be held on Saturday morning in this small Methodist Church on the northwest side of Indianapolis. I left home early so I wouldn’t be late for the 11:00 AM service. 

While I don’t know every minute detail of Bob’s life, I do know that it was significant. He visited me in North Fort Myers, Florida, during a road trip, and we spent a couple of days together. We laughed, ate good food, and I showed him the sights. I remember the time he made a prohibitive U-turn in his big blue Cadillac, which led to us being pulled over by the police. The flashing red and blue lights at night brought attention to our mistake, but it also highlighted the vibrancy of Bob's life.  

As the pastor stood behind the podium, he began by sharing the numbers that bookended Bob’s life: his date of birth and death. But it was his words about the hyphen that truly resonated. He pointed out that a graveyard lay across the street from the church, and if you were to walk through it, you would notice the headstones. Each one bore the name of the deceased, the date of birth, a hyphen, and the date of death.

He said that the three-inch hyphen represents an entire life. It's a stark reminder of life's brevity and the need to make the most of our time.

It wasn't difficult for me to imagine the headstones in the graveyard across the street. The pastor was correct. That three-inch hyphen between the dates represents an entire life.

How is that possible? The family sees the hyphen as brother, sister, husband, father, and grandfather. Bob was blessed with four children, fifteen grandchildren, and twenty-one great-grandchildren. 

The pastor reminded us of Bob’s good works: high school, Air Force, firefighter, and church member. Sitting in the sanctuary was interesting, listening to a friend's good works and thinking, “I didn’t know that about Bob!” Then, it was mentioned that he didn’t want a celebration or a tribute to his life. (I get that!) But here we are.

As I sat in the church, I couldn't help but internalize what would happen when I die. What will be said about me after I am gone? What will be my hyphen? These are questions that we all ponder at some point in our lives, and they carry a weight that is both universal and deeply personal.

I often use this scenario when someone loses a job. Make a fist, put your hand in a bucket of water, and then pull your hand out of the water as fast as possible. Observe how quickly the hole in the water disappears. Will my hyphen be the hand that leaves the bucket of water? 

As I sit listening to the pastor talk about life in general, he is now talking about the “afterlife,” or, in plain English, what happens after we die. I can’t help but think, I don’t want to go there just yet. I’m thinking about ‘this right-now life.’ Yes, I want to focus on my living, breathing "Hyphen."

If I hold a magnifying glass over my hyphen, is my hyphen three inches long? Do I have an inch to go? Of course, we all ponder such things at some point. 

My hyphen was Public School #49 to Pike High School, then college, the Air Force, marriage, and growing a family. My father always told me I needed to prioritize my life—God, Family, and Work, in that order. 

So, do we have the same experience? 

The first twenty years:  Education. 

The next forty years: Work, earning a living. 

The last twenty years:  Coast. Enjoy life. 

Yes, this is an oversimplification.  

I watched "The Elevation of Man" on YouTube the other night. They mentioned that the first known handprint on a cave wall dates back around 200,000 years. This indicates someone wanted to be remembered after they were gone. Additionally, other cave art dates back 40,000 years. 

Why is it important that we be remembered? I have experienced the deaths of my grandparents and parents. I have pictures scattered across the house of everyone I just mentioned. So, is it my way of remembering or a tribute to my life? It’s not hard to realize it will happen to me, too. As I age, my high school classmates and close friends continue to leave ahead of me, a constant reminder that life is only three inches long. 

THE DUGOUT BAR 

By Duncan 

What do these three studs have in common?  Well, almost nothing. We graduated from the same Pike High School back in 1962.  

 

STEPHEN A DUNCAN  -  JAMES (JIM) KITTLE JR.  -  JOHN (ETCH) ETCHISON @ THE DUGOUT

There’s nothing like meeting your old-school chums at a neighborhood bar. I am not talking about one of those fancy corporate or franchise operations with everything inside brand spanking new, with televisions on the wall as big as a house. I’m talking about a place that has stood the test of time. The Dugout Bar was started in 1954 by a mom-and-pop operation that’s been around forever. So, it was decided. “Let’s meet at the Dugout.” 

DUGOUT - 602 Virginia Ave, (Fountain Square) Indianapolis, Indiana. 

Jack and Gwen Wagner started the Dugout in 1954.  It became commonly known as Wagner's Dugout. Jack was an amazing softball pitcher and sponsored a fast-pitch team based out of the Dugout. His teams in the 50's and 60's were widely regarded as Indy's best! Card games and horse betting were commonplace at the Dugout during their ownership. The Wagners owned the Dugout until the late 90's.

DUGOUT - 602 Virginia Ave, (Fountain Square Area) Indianapolis, Indiana. 

Tom Ford purchased the Dugout from the Wagners, along with Becky and Lance Langsford as his partners. This partnership was short-lived.

Tom Ford and Nick Baxter

The current owners, Nick Baxter and Layton John (John, not shown in the picture) purchased the Dugout from Tom Ford on June 1st, 2017, and are leading the next chapter of the Dugout!

Jim Kittle and I are eating lunch at MCL on 86th Street in Indianapolis. He suggested we get together for lunch before he heads back to Sarasota, Florida, for the winter.  

MCL Cafeterias caters to a mature demographic. So I had to ask myself, 

“What the hell was I doing there?”  (That’s a whole different story.) 

MCL began in 1950 with a single cafeteria located at 38th Street and Sherman Drive in Indianapolis, Indiana. It was founded by Charles O. McGaughey and George Laughner. 

In 1973, Laughner retired from the business, and McGaughey bought out Laughner’s share of the enterprise the following year. At this point, MCL became wholly owned by the McGaughey family. 

MCL is an abbreviation of McGaughey and Laughner, their two names. Today, the chain operates 13 locations in Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. It is a privately owned company, now exclusively owned by the McGaughey family. 

In 1987, Craig McGaughey, son of the cofounder, purchased all outstanding shares of the company from relatives to become MCL’s sole owner.

THE DUGOUT BAR 

Darlene, (Behind the bar), our waitress, has been working at the Dugout for 15 years. She has gone through several ownership changes. She is a busy gal trying to handle the lunch bunch by herself.  

We ordered our pork tenderloin sandwiches and crispy tater tots; I asked Darlene about the general business environment at the Dugout. 

“With the economy the way it is, is it affecting the Dugout’s business?” 

“Oh no, we are fine! In fact, our supplier tells us that we, “The Dugout,” sell the most Miller Lite beer than any other place in Indiana. Oh, and we also sell a lot of Jameson Irish Whiskey.”  

“So the guys who deliver the beer in the big long trucks are telling you that the Dugout sells more Miller Lite than any other bar, store, or grocery in Indiana? That begs the question, "How is your Bud Lite Business?”

“Bud Lite? There is no business for Bed Light! In fact, we pulled all of the products out of here. No one wants to buy Bud Lite, can or draft. It’s gone. We don’t even stock the product.” 

I noticed Sunday while watching the Indianapolis Colts play the Tennessee Titans, Bud Lite had a commercial where they had the LOGO of the New Orleans Saints on a Bud Lite can. That was odd. No one can put the LOGO of an NFL team on their product without permission from the NFL. 

I picked up my cell phone and Googled the question. “NFL LOGO, Bud Lite cans?”  

“According to the Wall Street Journal, Anheuser-Busch will pay the NFL $1.4 billion for the ability to use the NFL LOGOs, which works out to more than $7 million for each team, every year of the sponsorship.” 

The Chicago Bears, Green Bay Packers, Dallas Cowboys and Minnesota Vikings are not included in this deal because of their current sponsorship with MillerCoors. 

“We know that the association of the NFL and teams is having a positive impact on Bud Light,” said Bud Light Vice President Alexander Lambrecht. 

“We want to make sure that we can become much more locally relevant in the way we design the campaign.”

Mighty big money when you’re talking beer and the NFL. 

JIM KITTLE - JOHN ETCHISON

While having our lunch, Jim, John, and I, touched on several subjects of interest. Different Pike ClassMates, and of course, the obligatory subjects we should have left alone. Sex, Politics, and Religion. We stayed away from Religion, but we did hammer the local and national political situation. I’ll leave it there. 

I was at the Dugout Bar before. Back in my “single days,” it was a place to meet members of the opposite sex. (Am I allowed to say there is an opposite sex?)

There are large office buildings in the neighborhood with lots of people who need a place to have lunch, and I was introduced many times to the Dugout for lunch.   

It’s been years, let’s call it 20 years since I have walked through the doors. It is still a hidden gem, a “hole in the wall” tucked away in the Fletcher Place neighborhood, just two minutes south of downtown Indianapolis. It still has that neighborhood feel, with terrific bar food, friendly staff, and a laid-back atmosphere. Oh, and by the way, I guess they offer Jameson Irish Whiskey and Miller Lite if you are inclined. 

The picture on top of this article of Jim Kittle, John Etchison, and myself was taken by an unknown customer who I was told lives in Martinsville and works in Indianapolis. I looked over at his table, which was against the wall, and simply asked him if he would take our picture. He got up and came over and took the picture. 

“Who are you? What’s your name?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” he said. 

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