Ken Nance Loved A Sports Movie

Ken Nance loved a sports movie. 

That’s not specific to Ken, per se. Loving sports movies is one of those dad rites of passage. Like one day you’re cool and at the forefront of culture and the next you’re saying things like, “I will turn this car around.” Or you go to grab something off your bookshelf and think “where did these 37 books about World War 2 come from?” Loving sports movies comes in the dad job description. 

It makes sense. Men sometimes have a tough time expressing their emotions and sports movies sometimes help us communicate life lessons in a way that is understandable and relatable. Sports movies are typically about teams, and they showcase how everyone on the team plays their part. Winning and losing is not defined not by the individual - it’s how those individuals work together for a common goal. They celebrate the underdog - the overlooked people who society puts in one bucket when they really can be so much more. It’s not really about proving everyone else wrong - it’s about proving yourself right. A great sports movie is one you can watch over and over and, even though you know the outcome, the tension builds to the final game. The score swells. Slow motion is typically involved. You sit on the edge of your seat and you hope that Roy Hobbs, down to his last strike, bleeding through his uniform, can connect. And then he does. And the camera pans to his dugout and the team watches the ball climb through the air. And the look on their faces isn’t joy or jubilation. Not yet, at least. Their faces are the same as ours - because we, the audience, know, in life, it could go either way. But then the ball smashes the lights, sparks rain down on the field and Roy rounds the bases - securing the Knights’ ticket to the World Series.

Ken Nance loved that stuff. Ken Nance loved a sports movie. 

He loved Rudy. He loved Field of Dreams. He loved Hoosiers. Any time you mention the movie Hoosiers, Ken would stop whatever it was he was doing and say,”Oh, Hoosiers? That’s a wonderful film.”

So, naturally, when I became a dad - I started to amass my own personal sports movie classics that I can share with my kids and grandkids. One of my favorites is Moneyball. Moneyball is the story of Billy Beane, the general manager of the Oakland A’s. The A’s lose their star players to free agency at the end of the 2001 season and can’t afford to keep them due to their limited budget. So Beane and his front office, rather than chasing marquee players that they know they can’t afford, go out and get undervalued players that are just marginally better than their current roster. They look for people that are just 4% better. Forget home runs - just get on base. They gamble on the fact that the 4% increase in base hits, stolen bases, and strike outs could help them compete. This sort of thinking flies in the face of decades of baseball logic. And, at first, it didn't work. But, ever so slowly, the 4% starts to add up. The A’s start winning. In fact, the A’s achieved the longest win streak in baseball history. They fundamentally reinvented the world of baseball just by being 4% better than they were before. Great movie. You should watch it sometime.

Sports played a big role in Ken’s childhood growing up in his hometown of Griffin. Ken loved basketball and would shoot hoops with his older brother Jim at the Salvation Army. Jim wrote, “Being four years younger than me he loved that, and I enjoyed the time with him.” Donald Goodman lived just up the street from the Nances and played Little League baseball and high school basketball with Robin. He said he spent many hours in their backyard shooting hoops. Donald said, “Ken was the very best big brother to Robin.” The Nances lost their father Wendell when they were very young and the three boys formed a bond that not even death can break. Ken was unbelievably proud of his brothers and the families that they built. 

Ken had an incredible brain. His friend Sid Bell said that Ken “had a remarkable memory and was the go to guy for historical dates and facts.” Tommy Fields, his roommate at West Georgia, labeled himself as a poor student and said that Ken showed him how to study. “I credit him with any academic success I had,” he wrote. After college, he put that brain to use and served his country as a Lieutenant Junior Grade in the United States Navy. The service took him to naval stations in Rhode Island, Newfoundland, Cuba, and San Salvador. His brother Jim said that Ken searched “for enemy subs. Most of his work was top secret that he could not speak about.” He made lifelong friendships with his fellow sailors. Robert Hickman served with Ken at US Naval Facility Argentia Newfoundland. He wished Ken a sailor’s goodbye, “Fair winds and a following sea, shipmate.”

As big as his brain was, his heart was twice as big. Marsha Dempsey recalled a time during the spring of 2014 when her husband, Wayne, was nearing the end of his life on this earth. The pollen was so bad that spring, she would wash her house off with the hose every day. A few days before his death, Wayne was in the hospital and she wasn’t able to keep up. After he passed, their family returned home from the hospital to find Ken washing the house.  Marsha said, “What an act of love! But as we all know that was the kind of person Ken was -- always giving so much more love than you could ever imagine.”

Ken didn’t just love his friends and neighbors, he loved his neighborhood. He and his wife Mary have lived in Summerville Park for over 45 years. When they moved in on Halloween night in 1974, they were the youngest couple in the neighborhood. These are his words: “Quite frankly, our older neighbors were thrilled to see us move in. Not because of who we were: but because we were young and idealistic and energetic.” In 2019, he and his Summerville Park neighbors helped organize when plans were being made to build a motel on Charlton Street. They won their appeal, and helped, in his words, “keep this neighborhood as nice in the future as it has been for 106 years.” “Listen,” he said, “ if you get a chance to move into Summerville Park - take it.”

Ellen Greer said that every time she saw Ken, she was always greeted with a smile, wisdom, and love. Nowhere was that more on display than right here at First Baptist Church. Miriam Peterson, Ken’s cousin, credits Ken as the reason she and her husband, Carroll, are at First Baptist. When they first moved to Rome 22 years ago and started looking for a church, they visited First Baptist and found Ken standing on the front porch. She said, “He was so excited and joyful to see us and immediately started introducing us to just about everyone.” Hands down, the most messages I received this week were about his work here at First Baptist. Miram put it best, “Carroll and I both are just a ripple in the many, many ripples that went out from Ken’s warm welcome ministry.”

He took his love for Jesus and servitude outside of these walls too. After Katrina, Ken and a team from First Baptist traveled to New Orleans on a mission trip to help those ravaged by disaster. Ken saw how a tragedy could elicit a number of responses from the people that needed help - ranging from bitterness to gratitude - sometimes from the same person. When he got home, he literally dropped to his knees and kissed his living room in appreciation for all that he had.

And, boy, did he appreciate what he had. According to Tripp Bagby, as much as Ken loved the church, “he really loved his family.” He and Mary were married April 13, 1974. Sandra Allen wrote, “Ken loved Mary with all of his heart. He told me once that, after they married, he wondered why he had waited so long.” I had a front row seat for the love that Ken had for his three langers, Mary, Kathyrn, and Anna. Sandra Allen again, “He loved being a daddy. When Kathryn was born, I remember him washing his car because he said that couldn’t bring home a baby in a dirty car.” There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his girls. After spending all day at work, Ken would graciously play tennis for hours into the evening with Anna to help her excel at a sport they both loved and bonded over. When my beautiful wife, Kathryn, ran afoul of the law, Ken helped her do her community service. He didn’t do it for her - he did it alongside her. Because when someone you love makes a mistake, you don’t turn your back - you help them through it. That love and generosity amplified with the arrival of his grandchildren - Cooper, Clara, and Savanna. They are the living ripples of his spirit - and I see in them his compassion, love of sports, and silliness. Your Poppy was so proud of you and loved you so, so much. 

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Ken for over 20 years, but I’ve only known him in his retirement. I spent some time looking through his records this past week as we were preparing for his arrangements and I found really incredible stats about his career. Through his work as a rehabilitation counselor, he helped countless differently-abled people find employment and became an advocate for businesses to become more accessible for people with disabilities. He even hosted an event with the first deaf Miss America Heather Whitestone at Berry College to help raise awareness for the cause. I found his notecards from that event and, in the mid-90s, he wrote that the organization had already helped place over 200 differently abled people into jobs and careers and helped advocate for the same number of businesses to make their buildings handicap accessible. Think about that for a minute. Right now, there is someone having a meal with their family at their favorite restaurant. They have never met or heard the name Ken Nance. But they don’t have to find another place to visit because of his advocacy for accessibility. Those ripples are incalculable. Sandra Allen summed it perfectly when she said that “he quietly changed lives.”

Ken Nance couldn’t dunk a basketball. He couldn’t hurl a 90 mile-per-hour fastball in the ninth inning to win the divisional series. He never lifted the trophy at Wimbledon - though Tony Triplitt said that he played tennis with Ken for a decade and never was able to beat him. Tony referred to him as the “human backboard.”  But what he did understand is that life is a team sport - not an individual game. He understood that you never count out the underdog. Ken understood that he could use his talents and what he was given to make the world around him 4% better. And that 4% is why we’re all here today. So take tonight to reflect and remember Ken. Maybe watch Hoosiers. It really is an excellent film. And starting tomorrow, if we all strive to make ourselves just 4% better, just imagine what we can do. We can quietly change lives.

Ken Nance loved a sports movies. And I loved Ken Nance.

Role/Model

INT. HOTEL ROOM CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

MATT, publicist, leans out the door talking to exiting local press member.

MATT

Thanks again. If you need a copy of the press kit, there are a few on the table to your right. And be sure to tell the valet that you’re part of today’s press day. We’ll take care of the tip. Remember, the film is in theaters on November 7th.

MATT closes the door and turns to face PAUL, the actor.

MATT

That’s the last one. Great work today. Do you mind signing a few of these?

MATT begins to gather the mounted posters and easels around the room and place the posters on the conference table. PAUL grabs a Sharpie and starts signing.

PAUL

Today was a lot of fun. I appreciate everything you all put together to help support the movie.

MATT

My pleasure.

PAUL finishes signing the last poster and place the Sharpie back on the table. MATT picks up the scattered Sharpies and drops them in his backpack. He turns to PAUL, who is powering up his phone.

MATT

I love your work but, I have to say, my wife is a HUGE fan of yours.

PAUL

That’s so nice to hear. (Pause) You should tell her to get down here and hang.

MATT

Oh, that’s awesome… but she’s at work.

PAUL

Oh, right. (Pause) How about we take some photos that will make her really jealous?

Photo cred: Meg Prindle

Photo cred: Meg Prindle

Grief Letter 2

8.31.18

Pops,

When mom died, I didn't know how you would function. Because of your health, we all assumed that you would go first. And Mom was your world. I know you loved us, but not in the way that you loved her.

I am so grateful for the years in between. Mom's passing gave us a chance to get to know each other better. I got to see what a great granddad you were to Cooper and, especially, Jackson. When you died, we found the baby bed you bought for Clara's dolls, so I that the grand-kids were always on your mind.

I am proud that you were able to break out of your bubble and carve out a life of your own. You traveled by yourself. You ate by yourself. You talked to strangers - which was never an issue for you - but you did it daily after fifty years of having mom by your side. I was so proud of that. 

I wish we had more time. I wish you could see us now. I wish you were able to come to Shaun's wedding - you would really be in your zone. 

I also hope you found the answer to eternal salvation. I know that it was weighing on you leading up to your heart attack. It's almost like you knew that something was coming. After you died, I told your pastor about our conversation and how it started after his sermon. I think he really appreciated that his words got through to you.

Thank you for all the time we did have together, but especially the last two years. I'll always remember those the most fondly.

Love,

Matt

Grief Letter 1

8.31.18

Mom,

There are two things that I think about most often since you left:

The day you died, we drove down from Marietta because dad and Shaun told us you didn't have long. You finally let go thirty minutes after we got home. Part of me was happy that you got to see us one last time. But in the days after, several people remarked that you held on just to see me. I think they thought that would bring comfort, but it instead made me feel really sad. Especially the thought of you enduring whatever pain or limbo that cancer had left you in until we got there. I think about it all the time and it puts pressure on me, like I have a balloon in my body that inflates and makes me uncomfortable from the inside.

I also really regret that you never got to see your granddaughter. After growing up with all boys, having two sons, and two grandsons, you would have loved having a little girl to spoil. The kicker is that, for the first few years, she looked just like you. So even though you were gone, it was like your presence was still here. I would send pictures to dad and Shaun, and I'm not sure if it helped, or served as a reminder that you were gone. 

I miss being able to talk to you. I think about our weekly calls and how I sometimes dodged them. Or dreaded them. And how I'll never be able to have them again. I wish you were able to see your grand-kids and how well Pops did on his own - we all had our doubts - and the man and father that Shaun turned out to be.

I wish that I could have been more hands on at the end. Shaun and dad did all of the heavy lifting on their own and, even though I appreciate that, I still carry a lot of guilt about it. I was caught up preparing for Cooper's arrival and I never realized how things were progressing until it was over.

Most of all, I miss you. I wish I had time to collect all of your stories and put them down to share with my kids, or just to keep my memories from fading. I don't want to forget, but it seems harder and harder to keep it all there. You were always so proud of me and I think you would be even prouder of the person I am and the family we've raised. 

Love,

Matt

Practice Radical Acceptance

I have not been myself. It could be that I'm in a post-election denial. It could be that, last week, I had the realization that this will be my first Thanksgiving without my parents. With such overwhelming  feelings of injustice and loss, I should be Batman already. 

There have been moments of joy. When they're not melting down, the kids are incredible. They're transitioning from toddlers to little people, with actual thoughts and opinions. Their opinions are mostly about Peppa Pig and pizza toppings, but still.

I saw ARRIVAL, a moving film about the importance of communication against the backdrop of the world's first contact with aliens. A Tribe Called Quest released a stunner of a new album that instantly crept into my top 10 for the year - maybe even top 5. And I finally got into "Hamilton." I've found myself going deeper down the Hamilton rabbit hole with every listen. My re-listens have even replaced my daily schedule of podcasts, with the exception of one holdover.

Still Processing is a culture podcast produced by the New York Times, featuring the brilliant movie/culture critic Wesley Morris (formerly of Grantland) and tech writer/ray of sunshine Jenna Wortham. On their latest episode, "How to Survive Thanksgiving," Wesley and Jenna visit the Red Hook home of Sam Sifton, who runs the New York Times Food section and actually wrote the book on Thanksgiving, to discuss holiday traditions, the importance of gravy, and how to navigate politics at the table. 

Like Amy Adams in ARRIVAL, Sam seemed to know the exact thing I needed to hear, and when to say it: 

“This Thanksgiving is gonna be different for lots of folks all across the country. Some families will be largely jubilant with some bummed-out people in the corner of the table. And others will be largely sad with some jubilant outliers. ... And if you find yourself as the outlier in one of those situations, as many Americans will at Thanksgiving, I think we just gotta — this year and perhaps always — practice radical acceptance of where you are and who you’re with.”

So, in a move, of radical acceptance, I've decided to bring a peace offering. Below is my grandmother's secret Sweet Potato Pie recipe. I've had a lot of sweet potato pies in my life, but nothing holds a candle to this one. You'll probably notice that it's a pretty straight-forward recipe with no curve-ball secret ingredients, but sometimes the simplest answers are the best. 

As we sit down tomorrow, we'll be thankful for everything we have, and we'll acknowledge those that we've lost. And though we may not agree on everything, we can all agree that there are few things more magical than sweet potato pie. And that's a start. 

VICTORIA'S SWEET POTATO PIE

2 cups of mashed sweet potatoes

 1 stick of butter

1/4 cup of milk (canned)

1 1/4 cup of sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon of vanilla

Boil potatoes until tender. Drain. Put potatoes in a large mixing bowl and, on low speed, mash well. Add butter while potatoes are still warm. Add sugar, milk, eggs and vanilla and mix well. Pour into unbaked pie shell (makes 2 shallow pies or 1 deep pie). Bake at 350 degrees until set and lightly brown (about 30-35 minutes).  

My Books of the Summer 2016

There was a time when I devoured books. Prior to 2014, I churned through a novel a week. During one vacation to Hilton Head, I finished four in as many days. And then we had two kids. Now I'm lucky to finish four pages before falling asleep. 

Amazingly enough, I've read three books this summer, so they are, by default, my BOOKS OF THE SUMMER 2016. It's a good thing they're also great.

Credit: Grand Central Publishing 

"Before The Fall" is written by Noah Hawley, the showrunner behind the best show on TV, FX's Fargo. If you're not already on Amazon ordering your copy, you obviously haven't seen Fargo.. In that case, stop what you're doing and go watch it. I'll wait...

So good, right? 

"Before The Fall' is part thriller, part mid-life crisis, and part indictment of the 24-hour news cycle, all centered around the aftermath of a mysterious plane crash. It's a page-turner but it's not fluff. The ending will stick with you for days, and the build-up will make you question your relationship to media and how we process tragedy. 

Credit: Blue Rider Press

"But What If We're Wrong?" starts with an interesting premise ("What if we're wrong about our understanding of gravity?") and spins off from there. Author Chuck Klosterman ("Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs") tackles the notion of certainty, and how our views of pop culture, time, sports, and democracy (among several other topics) will likely be vastly different in the next 50 (or 500) years. Along the way, he gets input from author George Saunders, theoretical physicist Brian Greene, singer/songwriter Ryan Adams, filmmaker Richard Linklater, and more.

In one of my favorite passages, he reexamines 1999's "The Matrix" through the vantage point that, since the film's release, both of the film's directors, the Wachowski siblings, have completed their transition from male to female. It adds a whole new level to film loaded with philosophical layers. 

"But What If We're Wrong?" is not the simplest read. It's heady and, at times, frustrating, but it's also fascinating, challenging, and ambitious. 

Credit: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

We read A LOT of kid books in our house, but very few have the staying power of Scott Campbell's "Hug Machine." My daughter Clara has asked to read it every night for the last nine weeks (not an exaggeration - that's how long I've had it from the library). "Hug Machine" is a simple story of a little boy who is on a unstoppable mission to hug everyone and everything, no matter how big or spiky. It's an instant classic that has been completely embraced (sorry) by the entire C family.  

Close Your Eyes. Make A Wish.

"I'm mad at God because he took my sister."

May was a rough one. On May 4, I lost my a dad, Randall, to a sudden (though not completely unexpected) heart attack (May the Fourth be with you, indeed). A few weeks later, we got the news during a routine OB/GYN visit that we had lost our third child 16 weeks into the pregnancy,  after publicly announcing to friends and family via social media, sharing our gender reveal (It's a Girl!), and deciding on a name (Charlotte). According to the doctor, the baby stopped developing two weeks prior, meaning that Dad and Baby Charlotte's hearts ceased beating around the exact same time.

In the days following the miscarriage, we grappled with how to discuss the subject of loss with our two children. Our 18 month-old, Clara, is barely aware of the concept of asparagus, so that was a non-starter.  Sadly, my four-year-old son Cooper was well-versed in death. We'd recently lost Murphy, our dog of nine years, to lymphoma, followed quickly by the demise of an ill-advised, impulse purchase goldfish (RIP Fishy Swimmer). But the one-two punch of Poppy and Charlotte proved to be too much for Coop.

"Dad, I'm mad."

"Why are you mad?"

"I'm mad at God because he took my sister."

Look, no one said parenting was easy, but how am I supposed to respond to a statement like that? Especially considering that anger is a valid emotion and one that his mother and I were wrestling with in a slightly more nuanced way. So we let ourselves have the anger. We let a healthy dose of sadness in the mix too. And when the dust settled, we decided that the best way to honor the emotions that stemmed from our negativity was to turn it into a positive.. But how do you do so in a way that might resonate with a four-year old who does not have the patience or understanding for the concept of volunteerism? How can you extrapolate the positivity in an approachable, kid-friendly way?

FREE WISHES.

Kids understand wishes. Blowing out birthday candles. Falling stars. Magic genies. Wishes represent hope, dreams - they're essentially 100% positivity. So, to offset the negativity that May dropped on our family, we're countering with the essential oil of good vibes - Free Wishes. On Saturday, July 9, we'll be at the fountain at the Marietta Square stocked with pennies. Each penny will be distributed by the following guidelines:

• One wish per person
• All wishes delivered lucky side up 
• All wishes must remain secret 

We'll start granting at 9am, and we'll go until we run out. If none of the wishes come true, we're out three bucks and we'll have spent the morning dedicated to radiating positive energy. But if even one of those wishes come true? What an incredible tribute to an amazing father and the potential of a child.