JimmyCsays: At the juncture of journalism and daily life in KC

Thanksgiving Day is winding down. The dishes are clean (two rounds in the dishwasher), the food that was not consumed is either in the refrigerator or sent home with guests, and the trash and recycling are curbside.

Time, then, for a few passing thoughts and anecdotes…

:: We turned on the TV to watch the Plaza Lighting Ceremony but we missed the flipping of the switch by a minute or two…I’ve written about this before. I used to go to the ceremony almost every year but lost interest when they added the fireworks. The Plaza Association took what had been a distinctive, utterly sublime event and dumbed it down into essentially into another fireworks show. The cacophonous discharges serve only to disrupt and quash the deep stillness of the minutes following the light-up. Ooohs and aaahs and hypnotic gazes have given way to Pow! Bam! Kaboom!

When the Plaza changed hands a few years ago, going from Highwoods to a partnership headed by the Taubman company out of Michigan, I wrote to CEO Bobby Taubman, asking him to consider dropping the fireworks. He sent back a personal letter that was one step above a form letter, saying it would be evaluated. Of course, nothing happened, and the fireworks have continued.

I hate to say it, but I think my days of going to the Plaza Lighting Ceremony are over. I would go back if they dumped the fireworks, but I don’t see that happening. In this age of high technology and low attention spans, many people have come to need almost continuous entertainment — the louder and more obnoxious the better, it would seem.

So tonight, instead of going to the Plaza, I walked out into my front yard and took a good long look at the totally mesmerizing full moon rising in the southeastern sky. It was a satisfying substitute for an event that now revolves around artificial, exploding colors.

:: The Star’s Eric Adler had an irresistible Thanksgiving story today about a kindly, 66-year-old homeless man whose base of operation, if you will, is a Little General Store on Woods Chapel Road in Blue Springs.

Steve Arnold doesn’t beg, and partly because of that people open their wallets and hearts to him. He lives in the woods in a blue tent that someone gave him. It’s big enough for him to stand in and replaced a red pup tent.

The manager of another Blue Springs convenience store summed up Arnold’s innate appeal, saying: “He’s very down to earth. He’s very quiet, very polite. He doesn’t ask people for money. Just very humble. Very thankful all the time. Gives people hugs. He’s such a sweet guy.”

What a contrast to the ubiquitous guys (and some women) who position themselves at major intersections, holding up their requisite cardboard signs, often staring  down motorists stuck at the red lights.

After this story, it wouldn’t surprise me if someone gave Steve Arnold a nice little house or set him up in an apartment with a year’s rent paid in advance.

:: Peg Nichols, widow of Dick (Nick) Nichols, a longtime KC Star copy editor who died several years ago, was thinking about an experience long ago at a KU football game. Maybe it was because of the football on TV today. I don’t know, but anyway, here’s what she wrote…

Nick was never a student there himself (sent several kids), but he loved KU sports. I didn’t have that college experience, but when we were first married, Nick took me to a KU football game. It was cold, a thick haze surrounding everything. Just as we stepped into the bleacher area, the fans got to the Rock Chalk Jayhawk chant. I was transfixed. Of course you have heard it but probably not the way in which we heard it. At that time the entire chant continued in a monotone, clear up to the last “U.” The beginning of the “U” was in the same monotone, until the very last second when it dropped, probably an octave. The drop toward the last of the “U” was so unexpected it just sent a shiver through my body. Unless you’re heard it yourself, it’s hard to describe. It was like a dire warning to the opposition: “You think you know us, but you don’t know us at all.”

I don’t know when the change occurred. At some point the fans began singing in a monotone until the beginning of the “U.” The drop came, as one might expect, at the beginning of the “U,” — totally predictable and losing all the fearsome power of the earlier version.

Peg and I think alike. As I’ve written before, my favorite part of KU football (when I went to those) and basketball games (I go to a few women’s games every year) is the longstanding tradition of the band playing a languid, soul-stirring rendition of “Home on the Range” as the fans head to the exits at game’s conclusion. Me, I don’t go anywhere. I stand and wait, my attention fixed on the band. And when the last note of that great song has faded away, I’m always tempted to join in when the band leader yells, “What kind of day is it?” and the band shouts back as one, “It’s a great day to be a Jayhawk!”