Harry Covert - The Covert Letter

FROM PILLAR TO POST

The Remarkable Skeeter Swift,
Alexandria’s Basketball Legend

By HARRY COVERT

They call him the "Sultan of Swish" in Tennessee.

Growing up they called him "Skeeter."

Today, he’s the "Legend" of Alexandria.

He’s earned the titles.

Actually, Harley "Skeeter" Swift grew up on the streets of Alexandria. At about 10, before he had a two-wheel bicycle, he pulled a little red wagon up and down Washington, King and especially Lee Streets, a little tyke going from "pillar to post." He always had a basketball.

Skeeter Swift’s remarkable career is being recalled in a biography I’m writing. It’s called, "Skeeter: The Legend of Alexandria." I’ve researched his life extensively, interviewed many of his high school friends and companions, who today are leaders of the community. We’ve prepared a 15-chapter book.

I’ve known Skeeter for many years. He is a living legend of his hometown, in Tennessee, his adopted state, and throughout high school, collegiate and professional sports circles. His story is a remarkable one.

Swift fell in love with basketball as a mere boy. He literally dribbled the ball everywhere he walked in Old Town. The remarkable thing is his basketball prowess began on a cobblestone alley. Every day for three and four hours "I’d dribble, dribble and dribble on cobblestone."

The alley still stands today next to the Burke and Herbert Bank building on Fairfax Street. It’s called Swift Alley.

It’s not named for Skeeter, even though it should be. In fact it’s named after his parents, who at the time operated a popular bar, which Skeeter describes as a saloon.

Today, at 62, Skeeter Swift has had a stellar athletic career as a player and as an outstanding high school and collegiate coach. He lives in Kingsport, Tenn. He still has family residing in Alexandria.

"Rain or shine, I’d just practice and practice," Swift recalls. "I learned what to expect from the ball when I tried to dribble on a cobblestone. Then I’d dribble as I pulled my wagon. I loved basketball."

A few years later, Skeeter received a bicycle as a Christmas present. He was a familiar sight around Old Town, this growing hulking boy with the ball in the basket. He wiled away his days, all year around and in all kinds of weather, at the Lee Street playground, shooting and dribbling.

"I developed a dead-eye, jump-shooting all over the court. Nobody could beat me. I could shoot the ball." He honed his skills so well he turned it to an advantage by "earning extra money" from young basketball players from all over northern Virginia, Greater Washington and in Prince George’s County. "They all wanted to test me. I always won." As someone said, "it ain’t braggin’ if you can do it."

As a teenager he grew to 6-feet-3. He could play basketball better than most. He was not the big center on the team but a guard – a 200-plus pound guard and he could shoot.

Without question, Skeeter put George Washington High School, now a Middle School, on the sports map of Virginia and Greater Washington. He was highly recruited by Virginia colleges. He chose East Tennessee State University because of a full scholarship. "I wasn’t a very good student then, but I learned," he says.

And learn he did. Skeeter could dribble and shoot and "showoff. I had to be a showman." He was not only a great player but an outstanding entertainer. "I had to be at East Tennessee. For the first time in the school’s history, we filled the gym with fans."

Skeeter didn’t let the fans down. He became a three-time All-Ohio Valley Conference player at East Tennessee State and the Player of the Year in 1968. He was elected to the ETSU Hall of Fame in 1982. When he was first recruited by ETSU, the coach thought he was a football player because of his size.

He’s in many Halls of Fame and has been honored by numerous groups in Virginia, including the Alexandria Sports Club.

Many old-time Alexandrians still remember the 1965 high school football game when he drop kicked a field goal and George Washington High School defeated Annandale. Few people had ever seen a "drop kicked" field goal, which is still legal today. Most recall his legendary performances on the basketball court at Tulloch Memorial Gym of George Washington High School in the early 1960s.

Skeeter Swift put East Tennessee State University on the national map with his basketball playing days. He went on to become a star in professional basketball where he scored over 3,000 points in his career and today ranks as one of the top 10 free-throw shooters in the American Basketball Association, now the National Basketball Association.

He has been an outstanding coach, teacher and speaker. As a coach at Oak Hill Academy, he won a national championship. © Copyright 2008 Harry Covert.

Nolan Dawkins: His 'Incredible Day' in Virginia

By HARRY COVERT

When Nolan Dawkins was growing up, he and his childhood playmate couldn’t get a drink of water outside of their homes in Alexandria, Va.

In those days, the city was part of the old-time south where drinking fountains, public facilities and public schools were racially separate and allegedly equal.

Dawkins and his childhood chum, Bill Euille, grew up in the Parker Gray neighborhood. As adults they have been leaders of change in the city and have distinguished themselves, Dawkins as an attorney and jurist and Euille as a businessman and political leader.

Today, things have indeed changed. It was never more evident than on Thursday, June 12 when Dawkins became Alexandria’s first African American Circuit Court judge and the 18th judicial circuit’s third judge. He joins Chief Judge Donald M. Haddock and Judge Lisa B. Kemler, both native Alexandrians.

William D. (Bill) Euille, now mayor, was among the first speakers at Dawkins’ swearing-in ceremonies, first as friend and second as the city’s leader. He and Dawkins grew up on Columbus Street. Dawkins was one of seven African Americans who broke the color barrier and entered George Washington High School, graduating in 1965. Euille tagged along but graduated from T. C. Williams High School in 1967.

And, 43 years after graduating from high school, Dawkins was accepting the well-wishes from a packed audience of more than 300 well-wishers in the Franklin P. Backus Courthouse for his seating.

Del. Brian J. Moran (D-46) read Gov. Timothy M. Kaine’s official proclamation naming Dawkins to the Circuit Court. It was Moran who spearheaded the eight-year term through the General Assembly in March in an often sticky political struggle.

THE INVESTITURE APPEARED almost like a homecoming for the respected Judge Dawkins. His wife Lorraine and three daughters, Kelli, Kimberly and Ashley participated in the judicial "robing" of the new judge. Dawkins was greeted by his fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Mabel Lyles. She beamed with pride listening to the accolades for her pupil at the city’s Lyles-Crouch Elementary School. His first grade teacher was unable to attend.

Rev. Dr. Elbert J. Ransom Jr. set the stage for the ceremony as he invoked "Divine favor" on the Dawkins judgeship.

Retired Juvenile & Domestic Relations District Court chief judge Stephen W. Rideout praised the selection of his colleague, noting how they worked together and often thought alike in the development and growth of their court.

"This is an incredible day," Dawkins said later. "A little piece of me will always be with the Juvenile & Domestic Relations Court. But, it’s very different up here. I am looking forward to the work. Alexandria is a wonderful city."

The ceremony was marked by family and friends. As conversations raised the decibel level in Courtroom No. 2, bailiwick of Judge Haddock, the noise was so loud that Deputy Sheriff Walt Travers, the veteran bailiff, had to call the court to order with a booming voice.

Sitting and retired local, state and federal judges, the city’s elected Constitutional officers and attorneys all filled in the courtroom.

ACCOLADES MADE IT an ever grander day for Judge Dawkins. Sheriff Dana Lawhorne, responsible for courthouse security and also an Alexandria native, said: "There is no one more deserving of this position than Judge Dawkins. He has earned this because of his outstanding reputation in our community both professionally and personally. Plus he has a great sense of humor."

Semonian said, "He’s given a ton to this community. I had the pleasure of swearing him in the first time (as judge of the Juvenile and Domestic Relations District Court). And I was glad to do it again." Semonian, also a native Alexandrian, is a 1951 graduate of George Washington High School.

Dawkins was passed over in 2004 when his nomination was stymied by a politically divided General Assembly.

"He never complained and never made a fuss," Dr. Ransom said. "This is his time now."·

Copyright 2008 Harry Covert

EASTER: COOL, BRIGHT AND HAPPY

I’ve always looked forward to Easter. I’m at First Baptist Church in Alexandria, Virginia.  Arrived early to make sure I got a seat. It’s brisk outside, about 38 degrees but comfortable inside the magnificent auditorium. I do notice some women wearing large and attractive hats. I love it.

As a boy in Newport News I remember that women and young girls in my church, and most others, wore corsages. Men and boys proudly displayed red or white roses on lapels of new suit coats or sports jackets. In those days we all had our baskets brimming of with chocolate eggs, assorted candies and colored hard-boiled eggs lying on artificial grass. It was a fun time.

Today, there were lots of white- and gray-headed happy people. One older silver-haired fellow enthusiastically greeted people. Wearing a bright pink sports coat. his happy demeanor led to more smiles.  He looked sharp walking up and down the aisle before the music started. Of course, Easter brings on New Beginnings, celebrating the Resurrection of Jesus. The choir led the singing of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today."

Seeing and hearing the festivities this morning, I recalled growing up in the early Fifties. After morning services, lots of folks paraded themselves downtown on Washington Avenue as a rite of Spring with their wives, girlfriends and families, sporting new hats and brightly colored spring ensembles. And, of course, showing off.

On this Sunday the church is filled to capacity. The 67-plus-voice choir and Church orchestra were at their best, in fact, extraordinary. The congregation joined in singing "Hallelujah to the Lamb," a moving outpouring. We all respectfully stood as the music reached the Hallelujah Chorus.

Senior Pastor Don Davidson’s message today is "Like Him We Rise." He gave the "good news."  He reminded folks that 86 percent of Americans believe Jesus rose from the dead. "God has promised more to us than just this life," Don said. "We should encourage one another for everlasting life. God has made a way for us to live forever."

Spring is obviously here despite the cool morning and bright sunshine. There is something about Easter Sunday that brings about a glow and freshness.

This is the earliest Easter in 84 years. The congregation appeared happy and uplifted by the music, the message and the atmosphere. Don Davidson is one of those rare pastors with the special Gift.

"We’re all going to go through the door marked death but on the other side is paradise," he said.

The next time the three-day Easter period (Sacred Tridum) comes this early will be in 2228. The last time it came this early was in 1913. Looks like I missed the latter.  I won’t be around for any parades for the former, 220 years from now. · Copyright 2008, Harry Covert.

Judge and The Note . . .Just In Time

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One of my favorite Alexandria jurists is retired General District Court Judge Daniel Fairfax O’Flaherty. 

Even though he’s been retired a long time, he presides regularly as a substitute. He’s a fixture and still has second-floor chambers in the Courthouse on King Street.  He’s a familiar face in surrounding jurisdictions.

            Virginia’s lawmakers will change the face of Alexandria’s court system in a few weeks.  The city will have at least three judicial appointments and possibly a fourth, brought about by retirements of one of its three circuit court jurists and the chief judge of the General District Court.       

There will be new judges in the Circuit Court, General District court and quite possibly in the Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court.

            As the General Assembly ponders the Alexandria courts, I’m recalling a January a few years ago when two Haitians from Harlem escaped jail and criminal records, because of an illegible note.

            In early December 1998, two young Haitians took a wrong turn off Interstate 95 and ended up in an Alexandria apartment complex in Alexandria.  They fell asleep in their car.  At about 3 o’clock in the morning, police were called to a suspicious vehicle with two men inside.  Residents of the complex were scared, figuring they were drug dealers, especially since their car had New York State license plates.

            City police arrived, questioned them at length and didn’t like the several different stories as to why they were in Alexandria.  One said they were “coming to Richmond,” the other said they were looking for Greensboro, N.C., and the other said they were going to New York.   

            The boys were arrested, charged with trespassing and lying to police. Bonds were set at $25,000 each.  For the next two weeks, they languished in the Alexandria Jail, hopeless to be released for Christmas with trials set for January.

            At the behest of veteran Sheriff’s Deputy Mike Kimble who felt sorry for them, I went to the jail and interviewed them on the chance they were bondable.  (Frankly, I figured it would be a nice Christmas fee for me.)  I discovered one of boys had $1,600 in his jail account.  The other was penniless.  Their families were unable to raise the $25,000 bond or the bondsman’s fee.  They only person who may help was their church pastor. 

             I called the Harlem pastor.  He said one of them worked in his church.  The other, the one with no money, was dating his daughter.  “Both are good young men.”  I explained they needed bail bonds and someone to sign for them and someone to send the money.  I was the bondsman.

            The pastor wired $2,500 bail money for one boy and $800 for the other. The boy with $1,600 sent a note to the property deputy giving his $1,600 to me.  He scribbled a note. By the afternoon, the money was transferred for his bond release. 

            I put the note in their file, drove them to the bus station back to Harlem.  I was hoping they would return in time for court.  They did appear for General District Court.  Judge O’Flaherty was presiding, listening to the case with eyes closed, his white hair gleaming, and bright bowtie showing under his robe.  He wasn’t asleep.  The prosecutor’s evidence was pretty good. Public Defender Kevin Gaynor was working hard.

            I listened. I was just happy they had appeared for court.  To pass the time, I looked in the file.  My ears perked when the prosecutor asked for 12 months in jail.  Suddenly, I realized in re-reading the file, that the note to the sheriff’s property deputy, the boys could barely speak English, let alone write.  I stood up and walked to the front, asked to speak with the public defender.  Judge O’Flaherty appeared a bit startled but agreed.  I showed Gaynor the hand-written note, explaining these Haitians didn’t understand English very well and probably didn’t know what the policeman was saying.   

            The prosecutor saw the near illegible note, and took it to Judge O’Flaherty and the cases were dismissed.  I’ve always appreciated Judge O’Flaherty.  He’s a wise man.

            I know the General Assembly will be wise in filling Alexandria’s judgeships. • Copyright © 2008

A Merry Christmas to Everyone ...

It's that time to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year 2008 with a special tip of Santa's cap to:

             George Ramsey, Cecil Taffer, Mickey Marcella, Jim Waller, Dimples Prichard, Alfred Means, Margaret French, Calvin Falwell, Lawrence Simpson, Megan Lawhorne, Don Davidson, Jane Watrel, Dale Smith, Mary Anne Weber, Bernie Lloyd, Rita Haxton, Joe Madagan, Ed Semonian, Mugler Gibson, Andy Greenwell, Bobby Giammittorio, Bobby Lewis, John Wilkerson, Cindy Kapetanis, Tommy Seward, Lana Stearns, Julie Carey, Judi Dench, Gary Reals, Judy Miller, Sam Akinbami, Norman Snead, David Baker, Claude Beheler, Dave Gambale, Ian O’Flaherty, Carl DeWitt, Marla McCormick, Carmen Zygmunt, Skeeter Swift, Tom Dowling, Bill Paul, Earl Lloyd, Frank Cappiello, Daniel Fairfax O’Flaherty, Kevin Brown, Russell Griggs, Larry Jones, Larry Correa, Carlos McKeithan, Gene McGuire, Frank Simmons, Richard Benderoth, Trish Ruscak, Ron Davidson, Wendy Crane, Lloyd Hansen, Charlie Wornom, Sam Johnston,

             Steve Maguigan, Brian Lamb, John Griggs, Bob Moskowitz, Norman Moon, William Sweeney, Catherine Viggiani, Jann MacCollam, Jason Richmond, Dale Race, Bernadette Golembowski, Jerry Harden, Tom Glascock, Dick Welsh, Aaron Duncan, Edward Prokop, Brian Kelly, Woody Rea, Tom Frank, Tommy Durkin, Mattie Palmore, Tom Bissette, Judy Palmore, Cal Thomas, Becky Moore, Wendel Cover, Derrick Wright, Charlie Aschmann Jr., Brian Moran, Bill Bolling, Chuck Hagee, Stephen Lowery, Benny Hinn, Jim Boulet Jr., Karen Green, John Hagee, Dan Brockman, Scott Wash, Randy Sengel, Gary Jeter, Krista Boucher, Jeremy Horner, Chase Wise, Stephen Mackey, John Kloch, Jim Clark, Safija Jusopovic, Leonie Brinkema, Mike Weatherbee, George Ball Jr., John Bell, Charles Poarch, Mike Kimble, Willard Scott, Charlie Judd, Nolan Dawkins, Paul Pepper, Paul Yost Jr., Paul Harvey,

             Jacqui Levy, John Lisle, James Lanning, Michael Lee Pope, Melinda Douglas, Linwood Reid, Michael Neebe, John Carroll, Dorothy Redmon, George Woodson, George Wooden, Joe Issa, Joe Wiggs, Carl Armstrong, Chip Watkins, Christine Cornell, Deryl Edwards, Ray Duff, Fred Tharpe, John O’Hara, Bob Hawes, Kevin Coulmes, Chris Leibig, Myron Contee, John Poffenberger, Mike Cole, Frank Milano, Lolly Wilson, Lisa Kemler, Dennis Brown, Geoffrey Palmer, Jeffrey Archie, Robert O’Brien, Jose Portillo, Ronn Wilson, Rose Barreto, Rose Stewart, John Triplett, Larry Sabato, Wendell Flinchum, Mark Davis, Steve Simpson, John Whitehead, Hunter Land, Rawles Jones, Bill Cleveland, Bill Euille, Bill Haskins, Mark Thomas, Ed Parrish, Joe Seskey, Pat Troy, Elliott Casey, Cathryn Evans, Ann Kilgore, Margaret Edwards, John Lucey, Pat Minetti, Tom Hill, Leia Crock, Paolo Gonzalez, Fred Hayman, Russell Stephenson,

             Hunter Andrews, Pierre Guillermin, Andy Wahlquist, Bonnie Dodd, Alice Linker, Ann Puckett, Barbara Johnson, Barbara Jensen, Myra Jessen, Hannah Miller, Annie McWilliams, Danny Lakin, Randy White, Fletcher Wright, Mavis Thomas, Jimmy Thomas, Christine Hensel, Bruce Goodson, Virgil Coleman, Ruth Seal, Arlene Davis, Jess Kersey, Bennie Armes, Ralph Powers, Gant Redmon, Milt Drewer, Les Hooker, Charlie Sanders, Bill Chambers, Joe Agee, Charlie Kay, Ben Bowers, Otis Tucker, Bob Harrington, Bill Faulkner, Jack Price, Myron Augsburger, Nina Banner, Ray Linker, Frances Nichols, William Donald Schaeffer, Lacy Scoggins, Dan Reber, Bill Booker, Russell Hughes, Carson Linker, Joseph W. Black, Hal Damsky, Shenton Lodge, Sidney Morse, Larry Bonko, Alexander Haxton, Myrtle Barnes, Jimmy Wilkinson, Dana Lawhorne, Doug Wilder, Martin Bass, Bill Petty, Bob Hellyer, Neal Eskelin, Steve Wike,

             Jane Roush Marum, John Allen Muhammad, Jennings Culley, Al Worthington, John Seaman, Nick Triandos, Michael Lieberman, Narian Rajan, Richard Spicer, George Vecsey, Bob Coulter, Patrick Madden, Scooter Huller, Dave Statter, Jim Gay, Don Wheeler, Ken Jarvis, Chriss Liden, David Matthews, Mary Pratt, Lou Holtz, Claire Eberwein, Philip Streeter, Ronald Godwin, Joe Spagnolo, Horace Henson, Keith Crane, James Velez, Kevin Briggs, Alex Bridges, Jim Asendio, Megan Thomas, Ron Lawhorne, Clarence Nelson, Jim Chacamaty, Eric AuCoin, Ken Crow, Tom Dumproff, DinoVretos, Paul Plott, Joni Robin, Jeffrey Hunter, Donnie Haddock Jr., Tony Davis,William Hamblen, Erica Waasdorp, Scott Hessek, Ed Laborwit, JoAnn Orf, Butch Ward, Danny Coley, John Sheally, Jo Padgett, Sumner Wemp, Edward Dobson, Clarke Stearns, Fran Petecca, Brian Grenadier, Brian Cole, Eric Murray,

            Lori Rustigian, Donald Haddock, Jennifer Harris, Craig Fifer, David Rocco, Richard Ruscak, Jim Weeks, Ken Gill, Bryan Porter, Stan Scott, Robbie Hiner, John Romaine, Leonard Zimet, Leonard Dunford, David Edwards, Jim Cornwall, John Stott, Randy Dale, Gail Gaskins Roberson, James Goodwin, Joel MacCollam, Charles Lowery, Lee Marshall, Paul Weyrich, George Tinsley, Nelson Broach, Brad Crum, Tyler Gray, Gordon Luff, James Turnage, Amy Whiddett, Van Dalton, Daniela Deane, Tim Baldwin, Joe Horn, Harry Charity, Harry Greene, Daniel Silva, Jonathan Yardley, Mark Powers, Ken Follett, John McCaslin, Marion Elizabeth Rogers, Faye Wolford, Ellen Mitchell, Maria Hegstad, Ron Riley, Bob Joyce, Jim Suthard, Joey Lawrence, Kevin VandeWettering, Conky Sorrell, Alan Fleming, Richard Viguerie, Oscar Wiygul, Greg Bell, Randy Marcus, Carol Buckley Harty, Frank Aschmann, John Keats, Henry Hudson, Alan Dye, Faye Wolford, Ellen Mitchell, Maria Hegstad,

            And, most of all, friends and readers of The Covert Letter. (c) Copyright 2007 Harry Covert.

Jim and Tammy: A Night With Paul Harvey

I wrote this story in August 1989 as the scandals involving television  evangelists throughout the nation exploded. Jim and Tammy Bakker, two young people from Minnesota, were founders of the PTL Television Network in Charlotte, N. C.  On Saturday, July 18,Tammy Faye Bakker Messner died suffering from colon cancer, which had spread to her lungs.

The Bakkers were at the forefront of the burgeoning religious television programming of the 1970s and 80s.  It was their popularity and hard work that changed the face of national Christian television. They gave many well-known church and religious media personalities opportunities to become national figures.

Jim and Tammy began their television careers in Portsmouth, Virginia, at Pat Robertson’s UHF television station Channel 27, forerunner of the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN). They began an entertaining children’s puppet program and became the most popular figures in Tidewater, Virginia television for several years.

I was a young newspaper reporter and columnist at the Newport News (Va.) Daily Press when I met them in the late 1960s.  When the PTL story broke two decades later, I had a different slant on the story, which appeared in numerous daily newspapers.

Here’s my story:
Jim and Tammy didn’t always live high on the hog as famous TV preachers. When I met them, they were poor and willing to work for free.

It was 1971 in Hampton, Virginia. Several local businessmen, fancying themselves as event promoters at the newly opened local coliseum, contracted their first big event. Paul Harvey, the famous Chicago news commentator, was coming. The promoters were counting their erstwhile profits.

Paul's fee for that night was a healthy $7,000. The promoters weren't worried. They had gladly paid in advance. They were convinced. Tidewater Virginia patrons would flock to hear everybody's favorite broadcaster.

Why not, they reasoned? Two Johnny Cash shows had just sold-out in the Hampton Coliseum, grossing more than $200,000. Visions of quick money mesmerized them.

Daily, the touts checked the box office. But, a week before the event, they realized they faced economic ruin. Sales amounted to a few tickets.

When they called me, I could sense panic. Their thoughts of easy dollars had vanished. They came by my newspaper office, pleading for some free news space. They didn't have to remind me what a black eye an empty hall would be for the city.

I asked who else was on the program. Mr. Harvey would be the only speaker, except for some local politicians. I suggested they needed an opening act to sell more tickets.

We thought for a while. And, then I had an idea. My kids watched Jim and Tammy Bakker's puppet show on the UHF station and loved them. It occurred to me that an event drawing children would bring parents, too.

But there was no money left. Not for advertising. Not for Jim and Tammy. Not for anybody. With some trepidation, I called Jim Bakker anyway. He told me not to worry. He and Tammy hoped to begin supplementing the $45 a week that Pat Robertson paid them for their puppet show. Public appearances, Jim figured, may well be the start of a new dimension.

I told Jim if he'd mention the coliseum appearance on TV, I'd publish their picture and story in the paper.

And, Jim happily agreed to appear gratis. Besides, he said, he'd always wanted to meet Paul Harvey.

Well, it was a good night. Jim and Tammy greeted thousands of children with smiles and giggles. Tammy sang her heart out.  Paul Harvey, as always, was entertaining and informative.  And the promoters? They went back to their regular work, no poorer, but much wiser.

After leaving the coliseum, Jim and Tammy came to my office with two friends. They needed seventy-five cents to pay the bridge toll across the James River and $10 gas money for the ride home in their black Coupe Deville Cadillac.

I borrowed the money from the company petty cash. And Jim and Tammy were on their way?

© Copyright 2007 Harry Covert.

Ric Flair: “The Dirtiest” Wrestler A Real Champion

It saddens me to hear about the recent murders and suicide of the professional wrestler Chris Benoit and his family.  How tragic.  For whatever reason some are trying to make the case that steroids made him do it.  Despite the demons that Benoit (pronounced Ben-wah) faced, he simply became a murderer. 

It’s not the fault of the professional wrestling business.

It’s not the fault of his doctors.

It’s not the fault of his fellow wrestlers.

He’s the fellow who strangled his wife, smothered his son and then hanged himself.

This is a hot story as professional athletes of all stripes have apparently been using steroids (supposedly illegal) to bulk up their bodies for the sole purpose of enlarging their sports statistics. It’s big business, worth millions. It’s the next level for public adulation.  It's not the organic food business.

Pro ‘rasslin’ is entertainment just like the other professional sports, the movies and even now America’s political scene.

One of my favorite wrestlers is Ric Flair, Nature Boy.  He’s not only an athlete, he’s a terrific performer, entertainer and a good public relations man.  (Photo at the top right is Courtesy of David Matthews of www.rfgolds.com) Flair is a blond-haired, 6-foot-1-inch 240 pound guy who has paid his dues.  He spent years traveling the pro wrestling circuit for North Carolina promoter Jim Crockett.  He and his colleagues appeared on Crockett’s taped television shows and distributed all over the mid-Atlantic and south.  Once the shows aired, the wrestlers hit the towns throughout in Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia.

Flair, now 58 years old, is still going strong as a star for Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation/Entertainment (WWE).  He learned his craft well traveling to National Guard armories, high school gymnasiums and any facility that could handle a crowd of paying customers.  The wrestlers traveled four and five men to a car to save expenses.

I met Ric Flair in 1980 before he won the National Wrestling Alliance’s World Heavyweight Championship.  Here’s how it happened.

I was a member of the Virginia Athletic Commission.  Our commission licensed all pro wrestlers and promoters.  The state received fees and percentages from the gates. 

In the spring of 1981, Ric Flair was on a Friday night pro wrestling card in the Lynchburg, Va., City Armory.  My son, Chris, loved television wrestling.  In those days his favorite was the colorful Ric Flair.

I advised the promoter that Chris loved Ric Flair.  I asked if he’d introduce him and possibly get an autograph.  About an hour before the first match, Flair and his fellow wrestlers drove up in a black Cadillac Coupe de Ville.  They came in through a side door.  Ric agreed to meet Chris but wanted to dress in his wrestling outfit.

In about 15 minutes as we stood a few feet from ringside, the crowd milled about the armory and excitement was in the air.  A table was set up near the ticket-taker. Ric Flair in his togs walked up and introduced himself.  He and Chris shook hands.  Then Flair took him by the arms and asked, “Chris, want to wrestle me?  Think you can beat me?  Wooooo!!!!”  That trademark roar brought the crowd’s attention to us. 

Already, smiles turned to serious business.  I didn’t know what was coming next.  But Chris did.  He just beamed and held on to Ric’s big fist. 

Ric asked him again, “You want to wrestle me?”  Chris said firmly, “Yes.” 

“Then, let’s arm wrestle,” Ric said.  “You’re a pretty strong guy.”

And at the table, Flair bent over, Chris bent over and they clinched right arms.  Flair gave the go-ahead signal, “Okay.”  Before we knew it, Chris slammed Ric’s arm down.  Flair grinned sheepishly and promptly declared Chris the winner, raising Chris’s arm.  The crowd roared.

The “winner” beamed and loved that moment.

“Wooooo!!!!” said Flair.  He hugged Chris and off he went to the ring where the crowd yelled and screamed.  This time, Flair won his match.  Ric always says, “To be the man, you have got to beat the man.” Chris was 12.

Several months later, the then 32-year-old wrestler, born as Richard Morgan Fliehr, would win his first NWA Heavyweight championship.  Pro wrestlers are superb showmen, great athletes and great at make-believe.  His ring persona today may be the “Dirtiest Player in the game.”  In my book, Flair’s a real champion. © 2007 Harry Covert.

I Paid To Vote

By HARRY COVERT

One of the most exciting days of the year for me has always been Election Day.  This day not only has been the climax of political campaigning and campaigners but back in my young days it was somewhat of a social event, really a fun day.

On the day I reached 21 years of age, I proudly and innocently marched down to the city’s voter registration office.  There in the courthouse Mrs. Inez Ashe, Hampton’s Registrar, had a few questions for me.  Was I a property owner?  Had I paid my taxes? How long had I lived in the city?  I also produced a copy of my birth certificate and even my draft card, which I still have, all brown with age and showing 1-A.  I never burned it and was never called up.

At the moment Mrs. Ashe’s questioning seemed akin to being interrogated by the city police.  All I wanted to do was vote.  I did what I was told and signed the form. I was excited and ready for the next election, which would have been the spring primaries.  Then Mrs. Ashe said, “You gotta pay the poll tax.”  No one had alerted me about more taxes.  But a tax to vote?  I put up a small argument but Mrs. Ashe didn’t crack a smile.  Firmly as a prison matron, she said, “if you want to vote you have to pay the $1.50 poll tax.”  I had a dollar bill and at least 50 cents in assorted change.  I just made it.

In today’s world I chuckle when I hear about people who have trouble pulling the right lever or punching out the right holes.  In my early days you just marked the ballot with a pencil, paid the poll tax and kept the receipt just in case you were challenged.  You couldn’t pay the tax the day before the election or the day of the voting.

In the Commonwealth of Virginia, several things were important in elections.  It was advantageous to be a Democrat.  It was smart to be a supporter of Winchester’s Harry Flood Byrd, Senior, and also the local members of the Byrd Machine. Whatever office you wanted to run for you had to have the Byrd blessing.  Of course, you had to be a public Democrat, too.  Another caveat was you had to pay the poll tax, thanks also to the Byrd Machine.  And there was such an organization.

Now a $1.50 was quite a high fee for a lot of people back in the Fifties and Sixties.  I was such an innocent it was only then I realized the reason for the poll tax:  to keep “some” people from voting.  No one wanted to admit it but those “some” people were primarily the black families and poor whites all over the Commonwealth and throughout the south.

I started working the polls.  In those days the Commonwealth allowed everybody to get a driver’s license at age 15 if you could pass the written, the driving and then the parking test.  There was intimidation for a 15-year-old and that was with the uniformed and armed Division of Motor Vehicles agents, dressed similar to the State Police.  You had to drive around the block, give hand signals out of the window and then park between two imaginary cars without bumping the curb.  I passed the test in January.

In the spring, there came the primary elections.  A “machine” friend offered me an Election Day job.  I couldn’t vote, but I could drive people to the polls.  I loved it.  The pay was five bucks and a lot of tips.  We managed to get many people safely to the voting booths and no one complained.

Precincts were fun to be around.  We’d pick up the voters, drive to the proper voting place and wait.  While we were waiting we could enjoy all kinds of homemade cakes and pies and sandwiches.   I liked the chocolate meringue pies and political talk.

Sometimes, we had to make late rides because it was getting near to closing time and the candidate or candidates needed an extra bit of help.

I didn’t know the difference between the parties in those days.  There weren’t any because there was just one, Byrd Democrats.  In those days we pretty well knew who was going to win on all levels. You couldn’t even be a local precinct leader of the local Democratic executive committee unless you had permission and the approval of Senator Byrd’s team.

Of course, now we voters and workers are a bit more sophisticated, some even superannuated.  We have real voting rules, mainly no $1.50 poll tax and 18 year olds can vote.  Times have changed.  Fifteen-year-olds can’t have a full-fledged driver’s license.

This year, we don’t know who’s going to win the elections before hand.  Even the so-called experts really can’t honestly predict.  And I’m not either.

The Art of Bounty Hunting

By HARRY COVERT

Bounty hunting is alive and well in Alexandria, Virginia.  And there’s plenty of business to go around. I bring this up because of all the hoopla from Dog the Bounty Hunter’s derring-do, which has gained much acclaim from his popular television show.

Duane Chapman is an entertaining character who wears blond hair extenders, pointy-toed black cowboy boots and black jeans and shirt.  He always gets his culprits.  Of late, though, the Mexican authorities have decided they didn’t appreciate Dog’s help finding a dangerous three-time rapist they couldn’t locate.  In a reciprocal deal, U. S. marshals grabbed Dog at his home in Hawaii.

I am not one who copied Duane’s attire.  But I wasn’t averse to using various means to find the bail jumpers either.

For a decade in my eclectic professional career I enjoyed the bail bond business.  It was interesting and could be fun.  I made a lot of friends.  Some still owe me money but can’t pay because they’re serving long jail terms.  On occasion I had to go hunting and I did.

One particular weekend, I had to find an Alexandrian on whom I risked a $5,000 bond.  The court agreed to a brief extension or else I’d have to fork over the cash – every dollar. I didn’t want to do that.  I checked out every address, including his girlfriends’ apartments (he had numerous female companions) and other assorted places to no avail.  When I least expected it his mother called and said he would be on a Metro train stopping at Braddock Road in Alexandria.  He was coming to mama’s house for supper.  My good fortune.

So not to alarm other passengers and users of public transport, I donned a clerical collar with a sporty shirt and Panama hat.  A bicycle-riding Metro Transit policeman was taken aback when I introduced myself.  He was willing to help me though.  As we discussed technique, the 5:15 PM train arrived.  I looked up and there was my man, walking smartly down the steps.  He was all smiles with a pretty girl on his arm.  I walked up to him as though I was passing out a religious tract and slapped the handcuffs on him.  He didn’t know what to say.  I said, “Bless you, my son.”

Sometimes bounty hunters can run into jurisdictional disputes that can be testy, similar to the one facing Dog the Bounty Hunter and the Mexican government.  The Alexandria General District Court had given me a document authorizing the arrest of a young man on another $5,000 criminal bond.  The catch was he lived in southeast Washington, D.C.  I headed across the 14th Street Bridge, visited the police precinct in southeast to present my credentials and court orders.  No professional courtesy I found.  I was warned by the police commander I’d be arrested for kidnapping if I picked up the defendant.  No way to that.  The district doesn’t allow bondsmen or bounty hunters to arrest its citizens.  I wouldn’t risk spending one second in the D. C. facility.

I tracked down the bond-jumper though. He simply didn’t want to return across the Potomac River.  He may be getting a job he said.  I gave him a choice on the phone.  Would he prefer the D. C. jail or the Alexandria Jail?  Without hesitation, he agreed to meet me on a street corner and ride back to Virginia.  He didn’t want the D.C. jail either.

On another occasion, we chased a young mother through a heavily Latino area near Columbia Pike, finding her in a third floor apartment housing nine men, hiding in a 50-gallon trash bag.  None in the room could speak English nor would they point out where she was hiding.  We poked and prodded every closet and then the trash bag.  She attempted to jump out of the bag and the third floor window

It can be a dangerous business for some fugitive recovery agents around these parts.  Caution is always important even though sometimes it can be humorous situations.  A very good bondsman in Prince William County was caught off balance apprehending a dangerous guy known for fighting.  The bad guy grabbed the bondsman’s gun.  He grappled to avoid the handcuffs, tore off his pants, and then shot the bondsman in the leg.

One Thursday afternoon a fellow riding his bicycle down King Street thought I was out looking for him.  He tried to run over me at the flagpole in front of the Alexandria Courthouse.  Two alert deputies jumped him.  I didn’t have any warrant for him but the sheriffs did.

“Be Prepared” is a very good motto to remember.  A bondsman or bounty hunter can’t be too careful.  On a spring Sunday morning, I tracked an elusive bond jumper to a Whiting Street convenience store.  The 24-year-old decided not to come quietly with me, he wouldn’t cooperate when I tried to handcuff him and most certainly he wasn’t returning to jail.  I struggled with him for a moment.  He pulled away and then I drew my .38-cal. Smith & Wesson as I held on to his arm.  I threatened to shoot him dead on the spot.  Fortunately, an Alexandria police officer came to my aid.  The guy kept yelling that “the old guy” was threatening to shoot him.

“I know him,” said one of Alexandria’s finest.  “I believe he would have shot you, too.”

At that moment I realized youth was a thing of my past.  And, it was probably time I looked for another line of work or perhaps return to my computer keyboard.  There are a million stories out there and these are just a few in “the Naked City.”

A Reporter's Life

September 14, 2006
By HARRY COVERT

The best beats for any reporter are police and courts, politics and sports.  You can cover the good, the bad and the good again.  When you age a bit you become a columnist and an expert on all things.

Recently, we read of the Maryland high school football player convicted of major felonies but not jailed.  His punishment in part was to change high schools.  He was also named captain of the new football team.  Because he’s a good quarterback he’s playing regularly.  He escaped any jail time.

I know of a Virginia boy, an all state caliber football end.  He was fleet of foot and could catch passes to the envy of most players.  He was headed to a major Atlantic Coast Conference university football program with a full academic scholarship and a pro football career well in his sights.

He also had a side job.  After daily football practices and weekly Friday night games, our Virginia athlete began to break into homes and steal.  His little venture went undetected for almost a year.  At the same time he was courted by major college and university football teams, toasted at banquets and named to state all-star teams.  His parents were proud of his athletic prowess.

So it happened.  A nosey neighbor got suspicious.  She wondered about this young 6-foot-6 lad who always seemed to be moving in.  She called the police.  After a few weeks of surveillance, the cops entered the apartment and found a cache of hundreds of thousands of dollars in stolen radio and television sets, stereos, rings, necklaces and bracelets.   The young athlete had learned the art of fencing stolen goods.  He was doing pretty well for himself dollar-wise.

On one weekend, the athlete was named one of the state’s best players.  On Monday, still in high school, he was charged with 38 counts of burglary, breaking and entering, grand larceny and attempting to escape from police.  He was later convicted on most of these charges and sentenced to 20-plus years in the Virginia penitentiary.  No suspended time either.  He didn’t get a chance to play college football.  He shouldn’t have.  It was a good story.

Now the continued story of Judy Miller.   She is the celebrated former reporter of The New York Times who spent 85 days last year in the Alexandria Jail.  She had refused to reveal her source in a story she didn’t write involving the outed CIA agent Valerie Plame.  In the end, Judy was forced to leave The Times earlier this year.  I admire her because she stood on journalistic ethics.  She earned the praise of some of her colleagues but many turned against her because of their own political agenda to smear the current presidential administration.

The point here is simple: Judy Miller had professional character and went to jail on that principle.  We know now it wasn’t even necessary.  The special federal prosecutor was aware from the beginning who leaked the information.  No one in the media seems upset at the miscarriage of justice. Against Judy, Karl Rove, the President’s man, or I. Lewis Libby, the Veep’s man, who’s been indicted.  But that’s a tale for another day.

I visited Judy several times in the Alexandria Jail.  She was always smiling wearing her green jail jumpsuit, in good spirits and did her jobs.  She first worked in the jail kitchen and then in the library.  She was a model prisoner and well-liked on the second floor, not far from the infamous Zacarias Moussaoui of terrorist fame in the 9/11 attack.

Ms. Miller kept a daily journal of incarcerated life on Mill Road, Alexandria.  She found time to organize the jail’s library, itemizing every book by category and computerizing every book for use by inmates and staff.  She took time to organize the books by reading levels.  Through her efforts, The New York Times donated a computer, complete with program, and hundreds of books for the Alexandria Jail.

It sure seems obvious that though she was shabbily treated by her Times’ colleagues and the special prosecutor, she stood perfectly straight on principle.   Refreshing.  Certainly she’s exonerated for any misconduct.  It is shameful that this Pulitzer Prize winning reporter was jailed.  I hope she gets a book out of the ordeal.  Maybe the special prosecutor will be forced to resign, this man of allegedly high moral character, who seems to have played fast and loose with the law and other people’s lives.