Random Doctor Cannon…

I say that because, why I thought of him tonight — right now in particular– I do not know.

A text message that bright Sunday early afternoon — May 20, 2018 — notified me Dr. Billy Cannon, Heisman Trophy winner and national champion and all that — had died.

I’d just left church and checked my phone, that I’d left in my car. So I guess the thoughts were of death — and resurrection. And of seeing friends again. And of grace and luck.

He’d been so good to me, Dr. Cannon had, since I’d met him in the mid-‘80s, which is a whole other story.

Then next week after that text, before his funeral in Baton Rouge, I’d receiver (got?) a note from another friend, and he reminded me of something else.

“When Joe Dean was inducted in the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame,” he wrote, “the ceremony was at the Horseshoe in the Riverdome (in Bossier City). Dr. Cannon was there with his buddies: Boots Garland, Kenny Konz, and I’m pretty sure Jim Taylor was among those at his table, which we strategically located right in the middle of the room so everyone could see the great man. They were having fun, and wine. Lots of wine.

“Mr. Dean was the final inductee. When his son, Joe Jr., got up and started introducing him, for some reason the six bar stations at the back of the room decided that was the time to dump their ice and start tearing down their stations. I was on the back of the stage and knew if I thought it was loud, it had to be bad for the audience. I snuck into the darkness and hit the wall going back toward the bars. I passed the middle of the room and still had no idea what I was going to say to get them all to stop.

“To my left, coming from the middle of the room, was this big, hulking figure and although it was dark, I realized it was Dr. Cannon. I’m thinking, they want one more round of drinks, one more bottle of wine. Heck, who could blame them?

“He and I got to one of the bars at the same time. I still had no idea what to say. I never said a word. He reached across the bar, grabbed the barkeeper by the vest, and said, ‘Don’t you move another muscle. SHOW SOME RESPECT.’

“When the College Football Hall of Fame got around to ‘re-introducting’ him that winter, I think, I wrote him a letter and said many thousands of people say they saw his greatest run in Tiger Stadium that Halloween night, but I thought I saw one greater, there in the Riverdome in Bossier City, because that showed who he was, not what he could do.”

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