by Jim Bradford
In addition to boating with us every summer, HK regularly participated, from ages seven to nineteen, in a program called Saddle Up! This equine-based recreational therapeutic riding program designed for young people with disabilities is located on a large farm just outside of Franklin. The program’s stated mission is to provide children with disabilities the opportunity to grow and mature through therapeutic education and recreational activities with horses. Participants learn responsibility and discipline while improving their agility, building self-esteem, and interacting with other riders and their parents, but most of all just having fun.
HK rode his horse one hour every week during the six-month riding season and assisted with its bathing, grooming, and feeding. This unique program takes kids with disabilities into an unfamiliar world of large animals and turns it into an outdoor classroom and weekly adventure. The horses depend on these special children for their daily care, and the children love it.
The season concluded each year with a competitive riding show. Participants showcased their newly acquired riding skills before an audience of their fellow riders, parents, and friends. No matter the disability, each rider was judged by the same performance criteria. For most of his years in the program, HK was the only blind rider in his age group, and his challenging routines were judged by the same standards as those of sighted participants.
Besides a participation ribbon given to everyone, the top three riders in each show class received either a trophy or a blue, red, or white ribbon for first, second, and third place, respectively. By the time HK aged out of the Saddle Up! program at age nineteen, he had collected multiple trophies, including the coveted sportsmanship trophy and the most improved rider award, along with numerous first-, second-, and third-place ribbons.
Today HK says that participating in Saddle Up! was one of the most rewarding challenges of his young life. He has exciting memories of his time learning to ride and being responsible for his horse. After twelve years he was happy to finish the program and allow the same opportunity for another child with disabilities.
With HK it seemed that every time one blessing ended, another one, potentially bigger and better, was waiting for him in the wings. After his final ride at Saddle Up!, Pearl learned about a similar therapeutic riding program, without any age restrictions. Located on a picturesque horse farm outside Springfield, thirty miles north of Nashville, Paradise Ranch is the brainchild and lifelong passion of Brent and Sharolyn Snyder. The Snyders, through their Paradise Ranch charity (paradiseranch.org), provide life-changing equestrian and recreational opportunities for people of all ages with special needs and disabilities. During the past six years, a lifelong friendship has developed between this special couple and the blind boy with cerebral palsy who loves horses.
CHAPTER 26
Football Rivalries
I always imagined that little boys were born with a special DNA strand labeled “sports.” HK’s physical limitations, especially blindness, make athletic options difficult for him. His closest encounter will probably be using his good left hand to turn a radio dial while intently listening to the play-by-play action from a sports announcer. His dreams of a slam-dunk, a sixty-yard touchdown catch, or an out-of-the-park home run will only come in his sleep.
HK has enjoyed listening to radio sports broadcasts his entire life. We take for granted what a challenging task play-by-play announcers face when describing in precise word pictures action that is distant and invisible to their audience. Masters of the trade learn to add just the right mix of inflection, tone, and volume to transform their verbal descriptions into a visual masterpiece in the minds of listeners. For a sightless young boy listening on his beat-up boom box, those transmitted images can become his front-row seat to sporting events.
I recall one Saturday afternoon when HK became very animated while listening to a Vanderbilt football radio broadcast.
“Go Vandy! Go Vandy!” he yelled, clapping his hands just after the Commodores scored.
“How did they score?” I asked, not particularly listening to the game.
“A field goal.”
“Do you know what a field goal is?”
“I’m not sure. I just know it’s worth three points,” he replied sheepishly, lowering his head.
His answer surprised me, and I began asking him other sports-related questions. It didn’t take long to understand that he listened to games primarily for the exciting, action-packed play-by-play descriptions. His basic knowledge of the sporting event was limited to which team won or lost.
I had little doubt that he could quickly learn the basic fundamentals of football, but the task of explaining such a complex, detailed game to a blind boy was daunting. If only it was as easy as Andy Griffith’s classic explanation in his hilarious monologue “What It Was, Was Football.” How could a person blind since birth visualize a center, a tight end, a quarterback, or even a football? How could I describe fumbling the ball, jumping offside, punting, or making a bone-crushing tackle? But I took up the challenge and became his football teacher, explaining game rules, responsibility of each position, different types of plays, and the general on-field action.
Over time HK’s heightened knowledge of sports truly amazed me and everyone around him. He became conversant with anyone about football, basketball, baseball, hockey, and NASCAR racing. If some concept was not completely clear to him, he asked for a detailed explanation. In the beginning my explanations were met with “Oh, I didn’t know that.” Now his common response is “That’s right. I knew that.”
I was born and spent my young adult life in Alabama, where every resident was required to make a critical lifetime decision in early childhood—the Alabama Crimson Tide or the Auburn Tigers. I began listening to Auburn football games in my grandparents’ rural, north Alabama kitchen when I was thirteen. It was 1957, and our beige Crosby electric radio, perched on a small metal table by the kitchen window, cracked and popped as it strained to receive the thousand-watt signal of WJMW-AM, the only radio station in the entire county. Flanagan Lumber Company, whose local owners were Auburn graduates, sponsored Auburn football radio broadcasts in my small hometown of Athens, Alabama.
HK had never been exposed to Auburn sports until we started listening to Saturday games during the 2000 football season. The inspirational Auburn fight song, combined with the constant chant of “War Eagle!” and a little encouragement from me (okay, maybe more than just a little), helped mold him into a rabid Auburn fan. Many Saturday afternoons he transformed our rec room into a full-volume Auburn Tigers cheering section, much to the delight of our subdivision neighbors. I’m certain the decibel level coming from our house enabled them to track the progress of every game from kickoff to the final gun.
Loyalty is everything when discussing football in the state of Alabama. The rivalry between the Alabama Crimson Tide and the Auburn Tigers is real, intense, and personal. Sometimes Alabama residents are forced to step back, hit Pause, and overlook their next-door neighbors hoisting an Auburn Tigers flag on game day. Occasionally, in order to maintain Christian fellowship, they pretend not to see their church friend’s car plastered with the Alabama elephant mascot, complete with a personalized “Roll Tide” license plate. Family reunions in Alabama can be touch-and-go during the month of October.
I was convinced that HK’s rock-solid Auburn allegiance might finally be compromised one Sunday morning at church. We were surprised to be introduced to the daughter of legendary Alabama football coach Gene Stallings and her family. As it turned out, they also attended church with us and, like most Harpeth Hills regulars, they knew about HK’s life story and our journey together.
Coach Stallings guided Alabama’s Crimson Tide to a national collegiate football title in 1992. His family had recently buried their forty-six-year-old son and brother, Johnny, who had lived a lifetime with Down syndrome and a congenital heart defect. HK had touched his daughter’s tender heart so much that she made sure her famous dad knew every detail about him.
Once, while in Nashville on a speaking engagement, Coach Stallings extended his stay an extra day to spend time with family and, most importantly, to meet HK. His daughter had prepped us with news of her father’s upcoming church visit, so we arrived a few minutes early that Sunday morning. Once everyone was settled, Coach Stallings turned around in his seat, smiled, and said, “You must be the HK that I’ve heard so much about.”
“I am. Are you Coach Stallings?”
“Yes, and I am so proud to meet you, HK.”
“Coach, I’m proud to meet you too.”
Then, right on cue, HK surprised us all when he said, “Coach Stallings, you were born on Saturday morning, March 2, 1935, in Paris, Texas, and you were a big baby.”
The coach laughed, his expression conveying his utter surprise. “How in the world do you know that?”
“Your daughter told me your birthday. Didn’t she tell you that I have a special gift? You do know I am famous, don’t you?”
Everyone around us began laughing but quieted immediately as the worship service started. The famous coach turned around several times during the worship hour to check on HK, patting his knee and smiling at Brenda and me. His face displayed a serene expression indicating, at least to me, that the little pickpocket was well on his way to adding yet another name to his growing list of victims.
Our families visited a short time after church, capturing precious photos of HK and his new buddy.
“HK, send me one of those pictures.”
“You know I will. By the way, Coach Stallings?”
“Yes, HK?”
“War Eagle!”
I knew right then and there that HK had come to his senses and made a full recovery from his near–Crimson Tide conversion. The room burst with laughter as Coach Stallings, in his deepest, sternest coach’s voice boomed, “Boy, what did you say?” HK laughed so hard he could barely make a sound.
Memories of meeting the celebrated football coach were imprinted on his mind forever. He remembered rubbing his fingers over the large national championship ring, and noting how heavy it felt. He expressed sorrow in Johnny’s passing a few months earlier and regretted not meeting him. His new friendship blossomed each time Coach Stallings returned to Brentwood.
During one summer visit just before HK’s birthday, Coach Stallings surprised him with a University of Alabama wristwatch. He considers it one of his most cherished worldly possessions. Rarely at a loss for words, HK sputtered, “Coach Stallings, this is the most beautiful watch in the whole world!”
“Well, thank you, HK. You wear it with Alabama pride.”
“Coach, when Auburn plays Alabama, I’m still going to be for Auburn.”
Not to be outdone by his new buddy, Coach Stallings’s booming voice shot back, “Boy, how many Auburn watches do you have?”
Laughter filled the room as HK replied sheepishly, “None.”
CHAPTER 27
The Game Jersey
Through his growing legion of friends, HK was afforded many opportunities to meet professional and college athletes. Without a doubt, his favorite professional football player was Kevin Mawae, a seventeen-year NFL veteran and eight-time NFL pro bowler who played center for the Tennessee Titans. HK’s introduction to Kevin in 2006 began an enduring friendship that gave HK bragging rights with his school classmates until Kevin’s retirement from professional football three years later.
When you consider the content of their first conversation, it’s a wonder their friendship ever got off the ground. Someone had informed HK that Kevin had played college football at Louisiana State University, a dreaded rival of his beloved Auburn Tigers.
“Kevin, you know I’m an Auburn Tigers fan.”
“That’s okay. Auburn’s not too bad.”
He hovered over HK like a papa bear over his little cub. They talked, held hands, hugged, and had a picture taken together. Several times I noticed the professional football player, who stood well over six feet and weighed 295 pounds, wipe tears from his eyes.
“HK, have you ever attended a Titans game?”
“I went to a preseason game in August at Vanderbilt stadium with a group from my school, but I’ve never attended a regular season game at the Titans’ stadium.”
“Would you like to attend a game this season and sit in a skybox with my wife and family?”
As you can imagine, HK became very excited and was unable to speak for a full minute—a rarity for him.
“Yes!” he finally blurted. Then he added, “Kevin, are all of the Titans’ games sold out?”
“Yes, HK, every game is a sellout.”
“I don’t know why the games are all sold out. The Titans are just no good!”
In his innocence HK may not have been the most tactful fan, but he was honest. At this point in the season, the Titans were mired in their division’s last place with a miserable 1–5 record. Kevin winked at other nearby onlookers, shook his head, and laughed along with a roomful of people.
“HK, you’re right. We stink. Maybe we’ll play better if you cheer for us and attend our games.”
Kevin was pretty perceptive because when HK started cheering the games regularly on TV, the Titans started winning. In fact, they won seven of their last ten games, finishing the season with a respectable 8–8 record.
Kevin saved his special skybox invitation until the week before the most important game of the season. The Tennessee Titans faced the Indianapolis Colts and their great future Hall of Fame quarterback, Peyton Manning. HK was nearly delirious when Kevin called to invite us to the game.
Game day arrived, and we made sure to be at the stadium an hour before kickoff. Thanks again to Kevin, we were able to park in a special reserved area near the stadium entrance. HK, decked out in his Titans practice jersey and visor that Kevin had supplied, looked every bit a Titans fan that day.
We rode a special skybox elevator to the top level, high above the playing field. HK excitedly told the elevator operator, “I’m a friend of Kevin Mawae, center for the Titans, and we are going to sit in his skybox.”
“You must be an important person. That’s a big honor to sit in a skybox.”
“My name is HK, and I’m famous. What’s your name?”
“My name’s Horace, but I’m not famous. It’s nice to meet you, HK.”
We finally reached a skybox door with Kevin’s name on it and were met by his wife, their son and daughter, and a group of family friends. Located on the stadium’s western 10-yard line, the spacious skybox contained a dozen comfortable theater-style seats, a restroom, a dining area, and a huge retractable window overlooking the playing field. His wife opened the window before kickoff to give us a spectacular view of the gridiron. It was like watching the game on a gigantic television screen.
From the opening kickoff, everyone except HK anxiously followed the action from the large open window. Instead, he settled into a tall chair positioned at the food bar directly behind where the others were sitting. His window on the game came from a small, handheld radio and the distinctive sound of Mike Keith, the voice of the Tennessee Titans. Large headphones allowed him to hear Mike’s exciting play-by-play description approximately eight seconds after the live on-field action.
The game’s two most exciting plays occurred during the final minutes. The Titans, playing their best game of the season, led the Colts from the opening kickoff. With less than two minutes remaining, the Colts drove down the field and scored on a perfect Peyton Manning pass. With the extra point, they were now tied at seventeen with a minute left in regulation play. Everyone was braced for overtime, but the Titans had other plans.
The fired-up Titans returned the ensuing kickoff to their own 30-yard line, and the offense moved the ball across midfield in three plays. With only seven seconds remaining and the score knotted at 17–17, the Titans called their final timeout before sending their field goal kicker into the game for a sixty-yard attempt into the wind. It would be a team and individual record if he made
it.
The air in the stadium was electric with emotion. Every fan except one now stood, nervously awaiting the game-winning field goal attempt. With headphones muffling the crowd noise, HK leaned forward in his chair, tense with anticipation. He grimaced, as if all the pressure rested on his shoulders, while his arms extended upward as if he were protecting the kicker. He hardly breathed, intensely focused on Mike Keith’s voice.
As play resumed, the kicker trotted onto the field and took his position behind the massive offensive line. The referee started play, and there was an eerie hush over the entire stadium. The kicker had never attempted a field goal this long in his entire career. The center snapped the ball perfectly, the holder caught it and placed it in the exact position, and the determined kicker approached and struck the ball solidly with his right foot. The ball shot over the outstretched arms of the Colts’ defenders and, sixty yards later, rotating perfectly, sailed between the uprights and over the crossbar with length to spare. The Titans had won!
The entire sellout crowd, including everyone in our skybox, erupted in a wild, raucous celebration. Everyone, that is, except HK, who remained intently absorbed in the delayed action coming through his headphones. As our celebration began to wind down, he started rocking back and forth, screaming at the top of his lungs, “We won! We won!” Everyone in the skybox turned to watch the elated boy in super-excited mode, and our celebration revved up again.
After the game Kevin unexpectedly dropped by the skybox, where he received copious hugs and congratulations from his assembled family and friends. But HK, who was now hoarse from the post-game celebration, was his main focus of attention.
“HK, how did you like the game?”
“Kevin, I really looooved it. Did you know the Titans kicked a sixty-yard field goal and won?”
