Ronnie Dee--The Next Cawood Ledford

The Next Cawood Ledford

Ronnie Dee

Banner at Rupp Arena. Photo at Wikipedia.

Back in fifth grade my teacher summed up my school life pretty accurately. She sent my grandmother a note stating that I was a nice boy, with great potential, but tended to distract the other children with my antics and disrupted the classroom when I got them giggling. She hoped that I would settle down without any more incidents, and then the p.s. "Thank you so much for the chocolate chip cookies. They were delicious."

Thank you Mom, a little bribe never hurt.

I had some chums at school, but most of my road buddies in those days were Catholic and went to parochial schools. I never fully understood the incongruity of their faith. They wouldn't dream of not going to confession, but we would meet Friday afternoon and pool our money so I could go buy a case of beer while they were at confession. We would often sit on Jack's back porch waiting for him, his sister and mother to say the rosary, which they did every evening while doing the supper dishes. Then we would be off for a night of mischief.

The only extra curricular school activity in which I participated was going to the athletic events. I loved sports, but was not athletic enough to play any sports outside of the sandlot or street. As a kid, my ideal vocation was to be a sports broadcaster. I wanted to be the next Claude Sullivan or Cawood Ledford and I would practice constantly.

Cawood and Claude were the legendary radio broadcasters for the University of Kentucky Wildcat football and basketball games. Cawood was the most well known as he often did the NCAA finaIs and the Kentucky Derby. He did it for 39 years and his last broadcast was the infamous, "greatest college game ever," the Duke and Christian Laetner 104 to 103 win over Kentucky in the 1992 NCAA Elite Eight.

I would go to as many games in the park or gym where I could and "broadcast" the games out loud for whoever wanted to listen. Baseball, basketball and football, I'd do 'em all. I am sure some folks thought I was looney, prowling the sidelines, yelling to myself, but I didn't care, I was having fun.

I went to the high school state tournament one year and loudly detailed a basketball game. There were a bunch of school kids around me and at halftime they gathered around to see who I was and were surprised when they found out I was just fooling around. "We thought you were really doing the game," they said, "you're really good."

After a time I realized that in order to be a broadcaster, I would have to attend college, and as much as I hated school, I didn't know if college was the answer, either. I had to go to work after high school, so working and going to school full time did not appeal to me. My pal Jack tried that and it almost put him in a mental institution.

I had been rather numb to our monetary situation as a kid because my grandmother was a great cook and baker and an excellent seamstress. I wore hand-me-downs and home-mades my whole young life and no one ever made fun of me for it, but I could see how most everyone else was dressed in school. So money was one thing that precipitated my criminal activities. I couldn't afford to buy things, so I stole them.

My pal Jack, who lived across the street, and I were together all the time, plotting schemes and devilment when we weren't playing ball. We often rode our bikes all over town and even over the bridge to Indiana. We wreaked havoc with our bb slingshots and sawed off bean shooters. We stole copious amounts of chewing gum and candy bars.

I can remember getting caught only one time. I went shopping for our weekly groceries at the Winn-Dixie and was eating a stolen candy bar as I was walking out through the parking lot. The assistant manager caught me and marched me back to the manager's office. I was about eleven or twelve, I guess, and they had me dead to rights. They gave me a stern lecture, but I could tell that if I played my cards right there would be no police involved, so I sat there looking sheepish, with these two goons glaring at me. They may have caught me, but they didn't scare me. I readily admitted to my indiscretion and they finally released me. I'm sure they felt quite self satisfied, but then I did too. They may have caught me this time but I made it worth my while as I had my jeans and jacket pockets stuffed full of candy bars. As I strolled away, I couldn't believe they hadn't noticed all of my hidden loot.

I finally realized that the sportscaster thing was a pipe dream, so I marched on to whatever drum was left to beat. I thought it might be pretty neat to work at the Courier-Journal. They had an ad in the paper one day and I immediately went to the personnel office the next morning at 9:00 in the morning. There were at least fifty people waiting and we all herded into the office. A lady came in and said, "I'm sorry folks, but that position has already been filled."

Everybody grumbled and started filing out. I let them all pass and I was alone with the lady and I said, trying not to get angry, "Maam, that's impossible. That ad was just in the paper. It couldn't have been filled."

She didn't answer the question, she just asked, "Would you like to fill out an application?"

"No, I would not," I snapped, "I filled one out a month or so ago, but apparently it didn't do any good."

"I'm sorry, young man," she consoled me.

I went home, not in a good mood. As soon as I got there, Mom told me, "A man from the Courier just called and would like you to come back for an interview."

"What in the Hell for, the job's been filled already," I said.

"He said he really wanted to talk to you. Go see what he has to say."

"Okay, I'll go back and talk to him."

So back to the bus stop and downtown again.

I talked to the guy for about an hour and he asked me about my attitude and my school absenteeism and a bunch of other stuff. I was pretty good at talking my way out of jams. I had plenty of practice, so I convinced him to give me a shot and I was hired in late November and I stayed for almost 44 years. I think my Uncle George might have put in a good word for me too.

There was a very pretty and sexy young woman at the Courier-Journal when I started there with whom I conversed regularly. She was a little older than me and much more sophisticated, but I really enjoyed talking with her. She was the advertising department receptionist and she was always asking about my girlfriends. At the time I didn't have a girlfriend, so to keep up the good vibes with her, I completely made up an ideal girlfriend and would regale her with many of our fake romantic adventures. She never gave a hint of not believing me, so I'm guessing she did. I felt genuinely bad about it, but she was such a nice, sweet girl, I just couldn't disappoint her by telling her the truth after all of that time. She got another job after a while and left the Courier, so it turned out alright.

But I did that a lot when I was a youngster. Lie that is. I lied a lot and got pretty good at it. I think I would have been a decent actor, although I was only in one play in my life and I only had one line: I, as Saint Peter, bellowed, "Hoot mon, a Scotsman!" to the delighted audience packed into the Henry Clay auditorium.

I was beseeched with offers after that stunning debut, but I declined them all. I was still in school.

I lied when it really counted, like with authority figures. And I fooled a good many of them. I try not to lie anymore. I never lied to Donna Sue because I couldn't have stood it if I lied to her and she caught me. She had too much trust, faith and love for me to ever take a chance on betraying her.

While I was stealing, lying and being a general asshole, a lot of people around me were sickeningly honest. Some of that must have worn off on me.

Most of my bad behavior was attributed to being poor. Dirt poor. It just wears on you after a while.

Once I got a real job and made some money and could actually buy things and live like a normal human being, my outlook improved. Then I started playing music and meeting even nicer people, my life just got better and then I met Donna, and I eventually became the person I am today. Boy am I glad. The person I am now is so much better than the jerk I was back then, I am amazed.

I was so unhappy and depressed and lonely and angry, I didn't think I would ever get to lead a normal life like everyone else, but somehow it happened. I am not saying that I am better than anyone else. No, this was a battle with myself and I wasn't sure my good side would ever win out. But I think it did.

After Donna and I had become a pair, we hung out with T and Beverly a lot and the girls became close friends once more. When she and T divorced, Beverly and her dog Rattler moved in with us in Donna's little one bedroom apartment. It was crowded, but a whole lot of fun. Talk about a reversal of fortune.

This was right in the midst of the Three's Company craze, so I got a lot of good natured ribbing, but I didn't mind. I got to live with two beautiful blondes in a small apartment for six months and I loved both of them.

On September 6, 1980 Donna Sue and I were at long last married. I don't know who was happier that day, Donna, me or Beverly. It was a fun wedding. All of our friends were there making music and my nephew performed the ceremony. We partied into the night and Donna and I went home, as we weren't leaving for our honeymoon for a couple of days, and as soon as we got there, she asked, "Have you got the license?"

I mumbled something and searched my pockets, but came up empty. "Oh, my," she said, "You must have dropped it over at Mom and Dad's. C'mon, we gotta go back."

So back to my in-laws we went. It was dark and sprinkling rain and the wind picked up a bit as we pulled up to the house. We walked up the drive and Donna pointed at a spot of white just off the driveway beside the house.

"Maybe that's it," she shouted, and ran up to pick it up.

"Here it is. It looks okay, thank God," she stated. "I can't believe you almost lost our marriage certificate on our wedding night," she said and shook her head and gave that "Tsk, tsk" look.

But she didn't dwell on it and all's well that ends well.

I keep thinking how glad I am that I never got to be a sportscaster, because I would never have met Donna or Beverly and my life would have been completely different. And that could have been a tragedy.