<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class="">Dear all,<div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I am so sad. Dennis was a good and gentle man. My last memory is in Limoges, near of the cathedral, with his wife. He always was very kind with me and I remember his funny guide tour in Springfield. </div><div class="">See you Dennis…</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Thomas</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><br class=""><div><br class=""><blockquote type="cite" class=""><div class="">Le 6 mai 2020 à 04:49, Scott Peterson via Sport_literature_association <<a href="mailto:sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu" class="">sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu</a>> a écrit :</div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><div class=""><div dir="ltr" class="">I have appreciated everyone's tributes to Dennis and am not sure what I can add here beyond that he was the host of my first SLA conference in 2003 and his welcome made it easy to return the next year. As yet another example of his generosity, he raced around the building with me to try to find someone to make transparencies of my slides when my laptop wasn't displaying the full screen of my Powerpoint. I was a wreck, but he was calm and cool, and he didn't once say, "That's what you get for insisting on using all that technology." And then there was the time he got separated from the group on the hike at Acadia in Maine. Impressively, he found his way back, but felt badly anyway--when it was my fault for not doing a head count before we left the beach. I am still feeling the effects of the news and will miss Dennis greatly. I look forward to seeing many of you in June, but as has been said, it will feel incomplete. <div class="">--SDP</div></div><br class=""><div class="gmail_quote"><div dir="ltr" class="gmail_attr">On Tue, May 5, 2020 at 4:49 PM Kyle Belanger via Sport_literature_association <<a href="mailto:sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu" class="">sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu</a>> wrote:<br class=""></div><blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0px 0px 0px 0.8ex;border-left:1px solid rgb(204,204,204);padding-left:1ex"><div dir="ltr" class="">Friends,<div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I'm confident my words won't come out well. Truth is, I'm having a really difficult time with the loss. </div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I want you to know how deeply and dearly I hold these remembrances. Dennis has been a dear friend of mine, and an office neighbor since my first day in academia; he hosted me on my one (and only) academic interview <i class="">ever</i>. And he obviously made the questionable decision to let me into the academy. To him, I owe the entirety of my professional identity. We shared many moments in his office, in my office, in offices that belonged to neither of us, in bars and libraries from Western Massachusetts to Western Canada. We laughed so so much on those car rides.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I will share with you the story of our final meeting. Just so you can get a sense of his spirit near the final whistle.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Marty Dobrow (SLA alum, and our Springfield College Communications/Sports Journalism friend and colleague) and I made the 35-mile trek north to the facility in which Dennis was staying before returning to his house in North Amherst. It was right before the world started closing such facilities down to visitors, and only about a week before Dennis went home. The drive up was filled with some nervous conversation, as we had both heard stories about how he was having some good days and some that were less-than-wonderful. We arrived at the base of the Mohawk Trail, in the parking lot of the rehab facility. He had just been assigned there after (yet another) surgery set his recovery back--yet again. The day was cold as hell. My knuckles hurt. I worried that he might be sleeping. That we might be coming at a bad time. I worried about so many things.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Marty and I turned the corner into his room, where his wife CW was sitting at the foot of his bed. Her eyes widened and the corners of her mouth turned northward. Dennis rolled his head to the left, saw us. </div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">First, to Marty. "Hey, Dobrow," he said quietly, through just enough radio static that it became clear he was still Dennis.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Marty smiled. "Hey, Den."</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Then his smile disappeared. And he looked at me, pointing a crooked right index finger.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">"And you. You get the hell out of here."</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I had never been happier to hear Dennis being Dennis.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Two seconds later, we were busting each other's chops, catching up. We shared some SLA stories, talked about many of you. Talked of St. Louis. Even talked about Fredericton next year. </div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">That's prime Dennis.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">And I love him so much.</div></div><br class=""><div class="gmail_quote"><div dir="ltr" class="gmail_attr">On Tue, May 5, 2020 at 1:19 PM Kyle Belanger <<a href="mailto:kbelanger2@springfieldcollege.edu" target="_blank" class="">kbelanger2@springfieldcollege.edu</a>> wrote:<br class=""></div><blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0px 0px 0px 0.8ex;border-left:1px solid rgb(204,204,204);padding-left:1ex"><div dir="ltr" class="">Friends,<div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I'm confident my words won't come out well. Truth is, I'm having a really difficult time with the loss. </div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I want you to know how deeply and dearly I hold these remembrances. Dennis has been a dear friend of mine, and an office neighbor since my first day in academia; he hosted me on my one (and only) academic interview <i class="">ever</i>. And he obviously made the questionable decision to let me into the academy. To him, I owe the entirety of my professional identity. We shared many moments in his office, in my office, in offices that belonged to neither of us, in bars and libraries from Western Massachusetts to Western Canada. We laughed so so much on those car rides.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I will share with you the story of our final meeting. Just so you can get a sense of his spirit near the final whistle.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Marty Dobrow (SLA alum, and our Springfield College Communications/Sports Journalism friend and colleague) and I made the 35-mile trek north to the facility in which Dennis was staying before returning to his house in North Amherst. It was right before the world started closing such facilities down to visitors, and only about a week before Dennis went home. The drive up was filled with some nervous conversation, as we had both heard stories about how he was having some good days and some that were less-than-wonderful. We arrived at the base of the Mohawk Trail, in the parking lot of the rehab facility. He had just been assigned there after (yet another) surgery set his recovery back--yet again. The day was cold as hell. My knuckles hurt. I worried that he might be sleeping. That we might be coming at a bad time. I worried about so many things.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Marty and I turned the corner into his room, where his wife CW was sitting at the foot of his bed. Her eyes widened and the corners of her mouth turned northward. Dennis rolled his head to the left, saw us. </div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">First, to Marty. "Hey, Dobrow," he said quietly, through just enough radio static that it became clear he was still Dennis.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Marty smiled. "Hey, Den."</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Then his smile disappeared. And he looked at me, pointing a crooked right index finger.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">"And you. You get the hell out of here."</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I had never been happier to hear Dennis being Dennis.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Two seconds later, we were busting each other's chops, catching up. We shared some SLA stories, talked about many of you. Talked of St. Louis. Even talked about Fredericton next year. </div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">That's prime Dennis.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">And I love him so much.</div></div><br class=""><div class="gmail_quote"><div dir="ltr" class="gmail_attr">On Tue, May 5, 2020 at 11:59 AM Don Morrow via Sport_literature_association <<a href="mailto:sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu" target="_blank" class="">sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu</a>> wrote:<br class=""></div><blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0px 0px 0px 0.8ex;border-left:1px solid rgb(204,204,204);padding-left:1ex">
<div lang="EN-US" class="">
<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal">Folks,<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></p><p class="MsoNormal">I join everyone in expressing my sorrow at our loss of Dennis. He was a kind and gentle man, unassuming, with a quiet reverence for sport and its literature. I remember his devotion to Ed Sims, how inseparable the two of them were at SLA
meetings. And, as Rick noted in his tribute to Dennis, Glynn Leyshon and I found Dennis so refreshing in his distaste for baseball…such an anomalous perspective among Americans and among SLAers; Glynn shared once with Dennis that his (Glynn’s) hatred of baseball
was such that if the World Series were played on Glynn’s front lawn, he wouldn’t bother to open the curtains. Dennis beamed at the idea. I too recall Dennis’ work on Clair Bee; I had never heard of the author or the Chip Hilton stories but listening to Dennis
reminded me of growing up on Joe Holliday’s <i class="">Dale of the Royal Mounted</i> (Police) stories along with Dixon’s
<i class="">The Hardy Boys</i> series. Hearing Dennis speak about Bee and Chip Hilton, I ordered Backboard Fever – respecting Dennis’ and my own (and Glynn’s) disinterest in baseball stories. I liked the book and never read any other Hilton books but I will now.…All
honour/honor to Dennis Gildea’s name and our memories of him.<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></p><p class="MsoNormal">don<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></p><p class="MsoNormal"><u class=""></u> <u class=""></u></p><p class="MsoNormal">Dr Don Morrow<br class="">
Emeritus Professor<br class="">
Faculty of Health Sciences, School of Kinesiology<br class="">
Western University <br class="">
London, Ontario, Canada N6A 5B9<br class="">
Phone: 519 657-7074<br class="">
Fax: 519 657-7058<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></p><p class="MsoNormal">Blog: <a href="https://nam10.safelinks.protection.outlook.com/?url=https%3A%2F%2Ftumblehome.blog%2F&data=02%7C01%7Csport_literature_association%40lists.ku.edu%7C28a3401cf5b44ab9fb5c08d7f1930fda%7C3c176536afe643f5b96636feabbe3c1a%7C0%7C0%7C637243486245187231&sdata=bEBmGvF5bEkjOMMhXlNg77OkipnMuiNem7VIDStulH0%3D&reserved=0" originalSrc="https://tumblehome.blog/" shash="cQQIkp7wo3Vp0a6Ux3u+eH4xrVIzp3i+eA7R68UYTU0fs1cVsSa+rj9B6l5kDYI3U1Gav3Lgf/EBVQceL8H4ahx2TazGt4ntxsbYAmSHWxeVz310BEdNgtVmICb9PDOL42LTptLLlgsFVVyW+cFEYIcR9wjGyhV/oOQjZr2s/1Y=" originalsrc="https://tumblehome.blog/" shash="P7hF3Wb22qbcXeM1uDrCvWJl79DUXEG9n/sjtuas7oAoZ2it7VjwxqugeQ+3eBWWhePnSZ+aAXjQcQrRlfMaGforeayQTDKSiuo3z/DawF3EykDXwKC0VJsBwMd/yFol0SSabt5Sx/xATXFlnJFwSvP4BmOxfGgAiTc8vgHWN04=" target="_blank" class=""><span style="color:blue" class="">https://tumblehome.blog/</span></a><br class="">
Email: <a href="mailto:donmor@uwo.ca" target="_blank" class=""><span style="color:blue" class="">donmor@uwo.ca</span></a><br class="">
<br class="">
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<div style="border-right:none;border-bottom:none;border-left:none;border-top:1pt solid rgb(225,225,225);padding:3pt 0in 0in" class=""><p class="MsoNormal"><b class="">From:</b> Sport_literature_association <<a href="mailto:sport_literature_association-bounces@lists.ku.edu" target="_blank" class="">sport_literature_association-bounces@lists.ku.edu</a>>
<b class="">On Behalf Of </b>joyced1001--- via Sport_literature_association<br class="">
<b class="">Sent:</b> Monday, May 04, 2020 7:12 PM<br class="">
<b class="">To:</b> <a href="mailto:sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu" target="_blank" class="">sport_literature_association@lists.ku.edu</a><br class="">
<b class="">Subject:</b> [ARETE] Dennis Gildea<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;" class="">Sadly, we have lost another friend, companion, and SLA member. The tribute below is from his colleague and friend, Rick Paar.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Georgia, serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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</div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;" class="">Dennis Gildea died yesterday morning, May 3, 2020, after a ten month duel with glioblastoma. I’ve never met anyone like him. I never will. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Georgia, serif;" class="">
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">Dennis had an office in the English Department across the street from mine in the Psychology Department. My building was a cavern; a
repurposed warehouse leftover the Springfield Electric Company with windows that you’d find in any county jail. His building was an old college infirmary that had<span class=""> nooks and crannies,</span> stairs that creaked, and giant windows
overlooking the college baseball field that I’m pretty sure Dennis never looked out of because the guy just hated baseball. Hating baseball? You’re a sports writer? “Boring.”</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">I’m not sure when or how Dennis and I first became friends. His version was that long ago I said something snarky in a faculty meeting
when we all were arguing about the curriculum, primarily Great Books. Apparently I said that maybe we ought to lower our expectations and just shoot for Good Books. After that, I began my almost daily treks across the street to hang out at his office overlooking
left field. One day I saw a bunch of Chip Hilton books on his desk. “I’m working on something.” A book? “Yep.” Chip Hilton stories were all I read as a kid. Biggie, Soapy, Speed, Fireball, all of them, and Dennis is writing a book about these guys? And the
guy who wrote all of it? Clair Bee. I was hooked.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">Soon after Ed Sims, a longtime SLA member and a good friend of both of ours, died Dennis asked if I wanted to take Ed’s place and go
with him to Williamsport for the SLA meeting. We agreed to meet in Milford, PA and that I’d follow him to the conference. I think I was trying to show off, and asked him if he he’d ever heard of Charles Sanders Peirce (and that’s the correct spelling) and
he said, “Sure, lived right on Route 209.” First of all, outside of dilettantes (me) who fancy themselves smart in areas not their own, who the hell has heard of Peirce? But Dennis knew all about the guy. Then again Dennis knew everyone who ever lived in Pennsylvania,
which seemed to be the case once we got into Williamsport and took a walk downtown. How is it possible for you to know all these people? “I was a sports writer. Covered a lot of territory.” And so it goes. Dennis knew a lot of people and Dennis knew a lot
of things because Dennis paid attention to people and people wanted to tell him stories. He was also wicked smart.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">I think he and I went to four or five SLA meetings together. I was his underling when we had one at Springfield College a few years ago.
He was a breeze to work with and came up with my all-time favorite SLA t-shirt — the one with old time footballers running out of the SC Triangle. But my most favorite SLA meeting was the one at East Tennessee. We drove from Springfield to Johnson City, twelve
hours nonstop, and just shy of 800 miles. Dennis was close to having a cataract surgery on his left eye, and I was in the midst of a long struggle with double vision in my right eye, so between us we had two good working eyes. Fortunately I could see one way
and he could see the other. “We only need two eyes, right?” Right. We laughed all day. It was one hell of a trip.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">Then there was Bob, the Religion and Philosophy professor at SC. Bob had some friends but not many. Dennis was one of them. When Bob
retired seven or eight years ago he sort of slinked away to his house about an hour and a half south of Dennis’ house. It would have been easy to do what nearly everyone does when someone retires: think about them for awhile, wonder how they are, think “I
really ought to call,” put it off, and lose touch completely. Which is what almost happened to Bob except that Dennis was his friend. As Bob was slowly slipping into the abyss of dementia, Dennis would regularly organize a lunch with Bob and his wife and he
and three or four of us would gather, eat, drink a beer or two, tell the same stories about work, and do it all over again the next month. That’s a good thing you do with Bob, I’d say. “Aw … you want another beer?” </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">This past fall, the Sports Journalism Program at Springfield College held an anniversary celebration, something like 20 years or so.
It was an all day affair that finished with a tribute to Dennis. Students from over the years wrote and told stories about him. And of course Dennis wasn’t there. “Nah. I hate that stuff.” I went. Kid after kid, some more recent, some from years before, spoke
about what a hell of a good teacher he was, what a slyly funny man he was, what a smart man he was, how he touched their lives with a single comment, how he supported the underdog, how he made a difference. I wished Dennis could have seen it. I’m glad I did.
I miss him. He was my friend. I’m glad he was.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">___________________</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">Comments from others:</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">That is very sad to hear! What a gentleman he was! Phil Wedge<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal" style="background:white"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;" class="">My heart hurts. Terrible, terrible news. Hugs to you all. Angie Abdou<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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<div class=""><p class="MsoNormal"><b class=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;" class="">Joyce Duncan</span></b><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Georgia, serif;" class=""><u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
</div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Georgia, serif;" class="">Dr. Joyce Duncan<br class="">
Faculty, ETSU, Ret.<br class="">
Managing Editor, Sport Literature Association<br class="">
Box 70270 ETSU, Johnson City, TN 37614<br class="">
423-202-0937<u class=""></u><u class=""></u></span></p>
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</blockquote></div><br clear="all" class=""><div class=""><br class=""></div>-- <br class=""><div dir="ltr" class=""><div dir="ltr" class=""><div class=""><div dir="ltr" class=""><div class=""><div class="">Kyle Belanger, Communications/Sports Journalism Faculty<br class=""></div><div class="">Springfield College<br class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><b class=""></b> </div><div class=""><b class="">Please note:</b> I have a new Springfield College e-mail address.</div><div class=""><i class="">It is now:</i> <a href="mailto:kbelanger2@springfieldcollege.edu" target="_blank" class="">kbelanger2@springfieldcollege.edu</a></div></div></div></div></div></div>
</blockquote></div><br clear="all" class=""><div class=""><br class=""></div>-- <br class=""><div dir="ltr" class=""><div dir="ltr" class=""><div class=""><div dir="ltr" class=""><div class=""><div class="">Kyle Belanger, Communications/Sports Journalism Faculty<br class=""></div><div class="">Springfield College<br class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><b class=""></b> </div><div class=""><b class="">Please note:</b> I have a new Springfield College e-mail address.</div><div class=""><i class="">It is now:</i> <a href="mailto:kbelanger2@springfieldcollege.edu" target="_blank" class="">kbelanger2@springfieldcollege.edu</a></div></div></div></div></div></div>
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