The Path You Seek Leads to WOODY CREEK, COLORADO

Photograph by KILROY_60

I set out on a journey at an early age; following a path through valleys and around mountains...until I found my way, in spirit, to Woody Creek, Colorado.

America changed when the Beatles first touched down in New York on February 7, 1964. I remember growing up in Pittsburgh listening to the Beatles, Dylan, Elvis, The Mama's and The Papa's, the Stones, the Doors, Janice Joplin, the Beach Boys, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Tony Bennett and Louis Armstrong among others.

I always looked forward to Thanksgiving when Alice's Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie would surely be on the radio. And anytime that Puff The Magic Dragon was on. Years later, friends called ME, Puff...but that's a story for another time. {Here's the urban legend and the real story behind the song}

If I set out to put togetehr a soundtrack of my life, it would require more than music. There would have to be voices comprising any such compilation.

One voice sure to stand out would be that of Pittsburgh Pirates announcer Bob Prince. He spoke of plays being as close as fuzz on a tick's ear; pitches missing being strikes by the length of a gnat's eyelash; loaded bases being F.O.B. - full of Bucs; calling for a HOOVER when the locals needed a double play; saluting homeruns being hit out of the yard with "You can kiss it good-bye" and always, no matter how long the game or what the circumstances, Prince celebrated Pirate victories with, "We had 'em all the way." With black and white televisions or transistor radios, the voice of Bob Prince was there; from the time spring training started until the season wrapped up. Both at Forbes Field and Three Rivers Stadium; it was a great ride with The Gunner!

And there would be the voice of Myron Cope and the Steelers.

"The Chief" Art Rooney had a big day at the race track and bought himself a football team in the early 30's. It would take 4o years, but that gamble also paid off. Rooney's Steelers became one of the greatest teams in football history - the Team of the Decade in the 1970's.

What mattered most, what hasn't changed, is that win or lose, blood runs black and gold in the Steel City. You don't have to spend much time where the Monongahela and Allegheny meet to form the Ohio River to KNOW Pittsburgh is a drinking town with a football problem!

More on MYRON COPE ...

Everything Is Cope-Aesthetic

Pro Football Hall of Fame

Memories of the Steelers at Three Rivers Stadium by Myron Cope

One of my earliest political related memories is the funeral procession of John F. Kennedy. I questioned why there was a horse with boots in the stirrups, but no rider. Then, there was Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennery. "Why," I asked. No one had an answer. The access the press had and the freedom to report what was happening during Vietnam was unprecendented. The reporters were right there; firefights raging, surrounded by mangled bodies of the wounded, smoke and the foul odor of death hanging in the air as body bags stacked like chord wood. Johnson, McNamara and Westmoreland on television night after night talking about how it was only a matter of time until we got the job done; that things would soon be winding to a close. The United States of America does not go to war and get it's ass kicked. A family member died when I was about 11; we were at the funeral home. In the next room, there was a dead marine in a dress blue uniform. I walked up to the casket and looked at him for what seemed like a long time. "Why," I asked. No one had an answer. Next it was Nixon and his thugs; for one term and then a second. I would come home from school; and watch the Watergate hearings. What did the president know and when did he know it? "Why," I asked. No one had an answer. I was hooked.

I worked for a weekly newspaper, writing sports and news, for a few years before attending college. In those days, ability and a passion to hone your craft could get you a writing gig. I focused on sports and writing political columns when I moved on to the newspaper at The State College of Pennsylvania, Monongahela; up the Mon from Pittsburgh . The advisor, Mr. Welch, was prototypical of what Johnson and Nixon hated in the 60's. He stood out from the rest of the faculty with gray hair hanging down over his ears and collar, an unkempt beard, frayed jeans and a great t-shirt collection. I also came to find that he was a connoisseur of fine cigars and great weed.

Mr. Welch and I were working at the newspaper office into the early evening one day. I was writing a column about Oliver North and the Contras in El Salvador. And polishing my story on the football team's latest debacle. The coach had turned what was a once proud winning tradition into a weekly circus of miscues, bumbles and blunders. He had to go; and circumstances were such that I was the one who had to take him out. Somehow he recruited great players; and then crushed their spirit with incompetence and excuses as one loss followed another. "Enough for the day," Mr. Welch said. "It's time to relax." We went to his home, a farmhouse on a winding back road a mile or so from the school, and listened to A Prarie Home Companion on National Public Radio. He had a hookah; and we burned up some kick ass Thai stick.

I was flying high, clearly exceeding FAA regulations, when he dropped me off at the bookstore in town. I browsed a bit; and then it happened. The memory is scorched into my mind. There was blood in the water. I dove in, head first, without hesitation...

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - "A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream"

We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive...” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”

Jerry Stratton calls it, "the best opening line of any book since 'A Tale of Two Cities'".

Hunter S. Thompson became an inspiration. He wrote in a way I had never seen; loved football, politics and peacocks. I became acquainted with Thompson's work at a time when innocence was a long forgotten memory. It had given way to an understanding of the decadence that is ingrained in the core of our society. I found that depravity is rampant. Live for today was the mantra and self-indulgence could not be overdone.

My life would not be the same without having experienced the genius that flowed out of Woody Creek, Colorado. It inspired me; drove me to want to be better. I hungered for the action that only passion could bring. Being passive didn't get it; in sports, in politics or in life. You have to beat the bastards; and the only way is to be the best you can. And then, be more. Thank you, Dr. Thompson. Your spirit lives in so many of us...seeking excellence.

"Be the change you wish to see in the world." Mohandas K. Gandhi