What's in Dave's Head

Donna and I went to Washington, D.C. this weekend and visited, among other things, the  U.S. Capitol, whose iconic dome is undergoing a two-year restoration.  It was the first time I had visited the Capitol as a tourist, although I had been there many times as a reporter back in the 1980s. We had a glorious weekend.  The weather was ridiculously perfect—70 degrees with cloudless skies at the end of October.  We walked for miles, and took advantage of the incredible complex of Smithsonian galleries and museums on the Mall.   We saw Degas’ The Little Dancer sculpture, Titian’s Danae and other magnificent artwork.  We had lunch outside.  In the evening we enjoyed a tapas dinner at Jaleo, a fantastic restaurant in D.C.’s Penn Quarter, a trendy, upscale neighborhood that when I worked (and lived) on Capitol Hill was blighted, unsafe and decayed after the 1968 riots.  On Sunday we watched the Marine Corps Marathon and saw two of our friends run by who were competing in that grueling

Recent incidents in the NBA and NFL highlight good and not-so-good approaches to changing toxic organizational cultures. The National Basketball Association and the National Football League both encountered situations that exposed institutional cultures that threaten the integrity of their respective brands.  In each case, there are lessons to be learned about how to protect a brand and shift an organization’s culture. Adam Silver In the NBA, revelations about two owners turned attention to racist attitudes of those at the highest levels of the industry, and to the perception of bigotry in a game dominated by white owners and black players.   Bruce Levenson ( John Bazemore, AP) Less than a year after Donald Sterling was forced by NBA Commissioner Adam Silver to sell his interest in the Los Angeles Clippers and banned for life from the NBA after remarks he made to, and recorded by, his daughter, an inflammatory email written by Atlanta Hawks principal owner Bruce Le

On Saturday, Sept. 6, the Douglasses will be gathering for a family reunion in Silver Spring, Maryland.  It got me and my brother JD thinking about a place we had visited as children—the home of Tom and Tillie.  It’s where my dad lived from the time he was born until he was a teenager.  I have pretty strong memories of the place and of Tom and Tillie, and I emailed with JD and talked to my dad, Paul, Jr., this weekend to hear their memories and to get details right. A preface: I love the names.  Tillie’s a good one, especially when you say “Tom and Tillie.”  Her real name was Leoma Carson (no one seems to know where the name Tillie came from).  Tom’s mother’s name was Ola Edna but was known simply as Mom.  There was Big Gene and Little Gene and Eugene.  Paul and Pauline.  Tom’s sister, Mary Frances, married a guy named Rivers.  And the middle name of my dad and his dad?  Manuel.  No idea about the story behind that.  My mom’s family has some outstanding names as well, but that w

I swam the Great Chesapeake Bay 4.4-Mile Swim last Sunday for the fourth time.  It was the first time I had participated since 2011.  Back then I wasn’t in the best of shape and the conditions were very tough.  The air temperature was 95 and the water temperature above 80.  It was a grueling, unpleasant grind.  I remember telling Donna to never let me do it again. This time it was a completely different experience.  I really enjoyed the swim.  The air and water temperatures were just about perfect (80 degrees and 72 degrees), although seas were pretty rough—especially during the second half of the swim.  I had a better attitude going in, I was physically and mentally prepared, I had a music player—a gift from my kids—to keep my head clear and I was excited for about a week before.  Maybe I needed something to be excited about.   I was excited on the early-morning drive from Columbia, past Annapolis and across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to the park-and-ride near Kent Narrows

We are three weeks away from the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Swim.  After recent cortisone shots in my right shoulder and left wrist, lots of pool swimming and some open-water swims in Crownsville, Maryland, I seem to be ready—at least physically. At this point the hardest part is psychological.  When you swim a pool practice, there are lots of distractions.   You’re with other swimmers, so there’s the motivation of trying to keep up with those in your lane and the adjacent ones.   There’s some socializing before and after, and that makes it fun.   Despite some occasional questionable pool-water quality, you can see really well what’s around you as you go back and forth.   The water is also calm.   The coaches make the workouts interesting (usually), with sets that differ in distance, intervals, number of swims in each set, the stroke, and so on.   And after an hour and a quarter, you’re done. None of this prepares you for the boredom that sets in for the Bay swim.  It’s

Donna and I go to Washington every spring to see the cherry blossoms that ring the Tidal Basin.  It’s a rite of spring and, like the start of baseball season, signals the end of winter.   This year, after the winter we had, saying hello to spring was especially welcome.  I don’t think this past winter set any records, but standard-setting or not, it was awful.  Way too much snow, way too many frigid days, and way too long.  We had three big snows just in March—one on the 3rd, another on St. Patrick’s Day and the final indignity on the 26 th .    I know, I know, cry me a river. Today was the first 70-degree day we’ve had, and sunny with an azure-blue sky.  We decided to drive and made the trek and found a parking space (sort of legal, I’ll leave it at that) not far from the Jefferson Memorial in about an hour.  The TV news people had been telling everyone in the Washington viewing area that today would be the best day to come, and come they did.  There were an estimated two bil

I remember in elementary school we used to have air-raid drills, like fire drills.  When the siren went off we would put our heads under our desks or be walked down to the school’s basement and wait for it to be over.  Both very effective plans, I’m sure, if the Rooskies came a-knockin’ with their 50-megaton friends.  The Cold War was a pretty tense time in our nation’s history.    The media lately have been recalling a statement by Russian President Vladimir Putin from several years ago: “The breakup of the Soviet Union [in 1991] was the greatest geopolitical tragedy of the 20 th century.”   Putin seems to be trying to put the Soviet Union back together.    In 2008, a couple years after Putin made that statement, Russia invaded Georgia, pushing ethnic Georgians out of about 25% of that country and creating two “independent” states—South Ossetia and Abkazia—recognized by a handful of Russian allies.   Now, with Russia having used its military to enforce the Crimean Penins

My maternal grandfather, Earl Frank Egleson, was born in 1902 in Middle Fork, West Virginia.  I had a special bond with Grandpa Earl.  As far back as I can remember, he managed to spend a lot of time with me.  One day when I was four or five, he took me for a walk from our house in Kensington, Maryland to Wheaton Plaza, which was probably three blocks away.  It was a great adventure for me.  I remember going through woods, although there are no woods around there anymore. He spent countless hours playing catch with me.  I had a lively arm but struggled with command.  In other words, I would throw as hard as I could and didn’t care too much where it went.  Once I sailed one well past him and into a peach tree we had in our backyard, knocking down a good number of fruit.  I got in big trouble for that one. My mom has given me a number of mementos from him.  He was big into cars, and somehow she had a really cool gearshift knob from a 1929 Graham-Paige he had.  I have a pictu