Sometimes in the world of sports the media will use words like “warrior”, or “courageous”, or “hero” and apply them to professional athletes and their games. As we venture into this glorious time of year when spring training ends and the “boys of summer” play baseball on opening day, I want to tell you a story of a multi-million dollar athlete, David Ortiz, who knows the real meaning of the word “hero”.

This story starts in the hallowed corridors of Fenway Park in Boston and ends in Arlington National Cemetary. You’ll want to grab a facial tissue before you read it. Credit goes to Maureen Mullen, who wrote this account of the story for MLB.com.

Fort Meyers, FL. Maureen Mullen

We’re all going to get them. It’s not a matter of if — just a matter of when. Those phone calls, the bits of news that strike from nowhere, turning a perfectly average day into an exceedingly miserable one. They may be a part of life, but that doesn’t make them any easier to take.

On Tuesday morning, Red Sox designated hitter David Ortiz got one of those messages. A young soldier he met last summer at Fenway Park was killed last week in Iraq. Sitting at his locker in the clubhouse of City of Palms Park after the morning workout, Ortiz called a reporter over. “I have a story for you,” Ortiz said.

With that he told the story of meeting Spc. Justin Rollins. Within minutes, this mountain of a man — the one with the megawatt smile, whose booming voice precedes him into any room — was reduced to tears.

Rollins, 22, of Newport, N.H., was killed with five other soldiers on March 5 in Samarra, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device (IED) detonated near their unit during combat operations. They were assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne Division, Fort Bragg, N.C.

“He was such a good kid,” Ortiz said. “He came to Fenway to watch a game, and he wanted to meet me. It was going to be his last game at Fenway because he was going to Iraq. He came by the clubhouse, and I talked to him for a while. He just seemed like he was so full of life.”

So impressed was he by Rollins, Ortiz promised to hit a home run for the young soldier. Ortiz kept that pledge, and for added measure, it was one of his patented walk-off numbers, in the 10th inning against the Phillies on June 24. “I told him at the time that that home run I was going to dedicate to him for going to Iraq,” Ortiz said. “And just today I received a message from his family.”

Clubhouse attendant Jared Pinkos had the unenviable task of delivering the news. “He came in jovial, typical Ortiz, laughing,” Pinkos said. “But this just knocked him out. He started shaking.”

Asked to send something for the funeral, scheduled for Saturday in Newport, with burial on Monday in Arlington National Cemetery, Ortiz has dispatched a white No. 34 uniform jersey, with the inscription, “My deepest condolences to the Rollins family. It was an honor to meet Justin and I will keep him in my prayers. Sincerely, David Ortiz.” He is also sending a ball, to be placed in Rollins’ casket, on which he wrote: “To Justin Rollins, Rest in peace. God bless, David Ortiz,” and another with his autograph as a memento for the Rollins family.

“It’s just so sad,” he said. “He’s a young kid, full of life. Unbelievable, you know. It’s just sad.” Ortiz paused, turned away and grabbed a T-shirt from his locker, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Though it was the first time Ortiz had received a call informing him of the death of a soldier who was also a fan, he is no stranger to the pain of that kind of news. His mother, Angela Rosa Arias, died in a car accident on Jan. 1, 2002, at the age of 46. Her birthday was last week. He also has a friend coping with the loss of his own mother two days ago. The memories brought on by his mother’s birthday, his friend’s loss and, now, the news of Rollins’ death have all hit him very hard, he said. “It just got me,” he said. “I think of the pain coming from his family.”

“I can’t believe he remembered Justin,” said Rollins’ girlfriend, Brittney Murray. “Well, I can believe it because Justin left such an impression on people. But I know that Justin would be very excited right now. I remember him saying that home run just made him so happy, especially since it was dedicated to him.”

Rollins was to have come home on leave in April, on his wish list a trip to Fenway with Murray, who has never been to the fabled park. “That was one thing he said — ‘We have to go to a Red Sox game. I really want to take you to Fenway.’ That was one of his priorities for his leave,” Murray said. “He loved baseball, and he loved the Red Sox. He told me his favorite place in the world was Fenway. It meant a lot to him.”

At his funeral service, Rollins will posthumously be awarded the Army Service Ribbon, the Iraq Campaign Medal Ribbon, the Global War on Terrorism Service Medal Ribbon, the National Defense Medal Ribbon, the Army Overseas Service Ribbon, the Army Good Conduct Medal Ribbon, two Purple Heart Medal Ribbons and the Bronze Star with Valor.

“It’s gong to be a long road,” Murray said. “But he lived very passionately, and he passed that on to me. I’m glad to have known him. He believed in what he was doing, and he died doing what he loved.”

Donations may be made to the Justin A. Rollins Memorial Scholarship Fund, payable to the Newport School District, c/o Diane Fisher, 245 North Main St., Newport, N.H. 03773.

As an investor in commercial and residential real estate for the past thirty years, I’ve learned a thing or two about the real estate market, about mortgages and about interest rates. There’s an old saying in the business world: “When a man with money meets a man with experience, the man with the experience will get the money and the man with money will get the experience.” Like anybody learning the ropes, I’ve gained some high-priced experience in my lifetime, but all of us learn from our mistakes. Compared to the big guys in the real estate business, I’m just a chump. But, if you’re new to real estate, perhaps my advice in this short column will save you some headaches. You might even make some money!

Start Early: If you have a desire to invest in real estate, start as soon as possible. Like all investments, the earlier you start the greater will be the appreciation of your property. Don’t try to be a tycoon. Start small with something you can just barely afford. Then move on to bigger deals.

Location: You’ve heard it said before, but it cannot be overemphasized. The location of a property is the most important determinant of its value and there are no exceptions! Never scrimp on location. Never purchase a property in a neighborhood that has a possibility of declining property values. If possible invest in a good, safe, neighborhood where property values are rising. If you can only afford properties in declining or “dicey” neighborhoods, you’ll be in for a nightmare. Save some more money until you can purchase a property in a good neighborhood.

Finance with a fixed interest rate: Over the past five years many lenders attracted potential homebuyers with Adjustable Rate Mortgages (ARM’s) or other types of variable interest rate loans. While the initial rates are low and the monthly payments are cheap, the homebuyer is taking the risk associated with rising interest rates and higher monthly payments in the future. If you want to get your payment down, go ahead and get a 30-year fixed payment mortgage, but don’t be attracted by low “teaser” rates on home mortgages. Right now the mortgage default rate in the United States is very high, largely because those who financed with variable rate mortgages can no longer afford their rising monthly house payments. Ironically, the mortgage companies that convinced these buyers to accept variable interest mortgages are now running ads offering to “get you out of your ARM and into a fixed rate mortgage!” Mortgage companies will now earn new fees and closing costs getting buyers out of the same ARMS they got them into four years ago! They get you coming and they get you going; there’s a sucker born every minute!

Make sure it’s solid: Make sure your purchase agreement has a contingency for a home inspection, including a radon test. Hire a good inspector to go over the property from foundation to roof. If you’re not paying at least $400 for an inspector, you’re probably not getting your money’s worth. Get a radon test. It costs less than $25 and if the house has high levels of radon, negotiate with the home seller to reduce the price about $2,500, which is the cost to have the radon problem permanently solved. Remember, all properties have some defects. Your inspector’s job is to notify you of structural or other potentially irreparable defects. If the house has a structural problem, walk away, period. If other problems exist that are fixable but expensive, try to negotiate a reduced price from the seller to compensate you for these extraordinary costs.

Advice about Realtors: Anybody with reasonable intelligence and a modicum of drive and ambition can become a licensed realtor. When real estate is selling quickly and it is a seller’s market, a lot of “newbies” enter into the real estate profession. Some of them are good and some of them aren’t so good, but they all lack the experience of someone who has been selling real estate for several years. Over time, as the market for real estate “cycles” from good to bad, most of the “newbie realtors” end up pursuing careers other than real estate. Whether you’re buying or selling, I recommend that you deal with a realtor that has been in the business for at least five years. Personally, I like the one’s who’ve been in for at least 20 years, and I seldom deal with “newbies”.

If possible deal with the “Lister”: When a house is sold, the commission is split three ways. About a third of the commission goes to the “Broker,” the person who owns the real estate office. Another third goes to the “Lister,” the person who got the seller to sign the listing agreement. The last third of the commission goes to the “Selling Agent,” who shows the buyer the property gets the buyer’s signature on the purchase agreement. For example, if Rachael “lists” the property and she works for Bob Brown Realty, Rachel is the Lister and Bob is the Broker. If Tammy, a real estate sales agent working for another broker, shows the home and convinces a buyer to sign the purchase agreement, at closing the commission is split between the broker, the lister, and the selling agent. In this example, if the total commission is 6 percent, Bob Brown would get 2%, Rachael would get 2% and Tammy would get 2%.

Here’s the point. If you can get Rachael (the “Lister”) to show you the home instead of Tammy, Rachael stands to get 4% if she sells the house. This gives her much more incentive to get the deal done, including convincing the seller that it would be wise to reduce the price of the property for a sure sale. When you see the sign out front of a property, look to see if the lister’s name is on the sign. If not, call the broker’s number and ask them who “listed” the property. The person on the phone will likely volunteer to show you the house, but tell them you want to deal with the “Lister.” If you are insistent, they will comply and give you the name of the lister.

There is one important exception to my “Deal with the Lister” advice. If you are entering an entirely new geographic area and are not familiar with the real estate market, you may be better off to work with one agent and let him or her show you homes until you make your purchase. A couple of years ago I worked with an agent in Chicago who was very proficient. She showed me properties in Chicago for almost 18 months before I made a purchase. With her valued assistance, I “learned” the Chicago real estate market. She was absolutely instrumental in assisting me to make what turned out to be a wonderful purchase. For the closing paperwork she also referred me to an extremely competent Chicago attorney. She is a credit to the real estate profession, and believe it or not, she was fairly new to the business.

Investing In Rental Property: There are a lot of late night “infomercials” featuring people who “made it rich” in real estate by “flipping” (quick purchase and resale) properties or by purchasing investment real estate. Listening to them, you get the idea that owning property is as easy as pie. Forget it. They are making money selling their courses and CD’s. They’ve found out a long time ago that infomercials are a lot more profitable than real estate! Remember that ownership of real estate entails receiving rent money, but it also includes tenants that don’t pay, unforeseen damages, and toilets and roofs that leak! If you want to own rental property, you have to MANAGE it! Someone has to do the repairs and deal with impossible tenants. There are a lot of “headaches” involved in owning real estate, like the midnight phone call in January informing you that the furnace isn’t working. Believe me, real estate is work!

Conclusion: I’ve sometimes referred to real estate as “the poor man’s investment.” It is the only asset I know of that you can purchase with someone else’s money and it will supply monthly income to pay off the loan; all with very little downside risk! The banker provides most of the money. The tenants make the mortgage payments by generating rental income. If you purchase quality real estate (in a good location) and manage it competently for twenty or thirty years, believe me, your real estate will take real good care of you.

Owning real estate isn’t a get rich quick scheme, it’s a long-run investment that (if done right) will add substantially to your net worth and provide some nice retirement income. I remember the day I bought my first rental property from Mrs. Ruth Markle in Winona, Minnesota. She was eighty-seven years old at the time. I paid her $48,000 for a house that she had paid $3,000 for in 1938. I didn’t have two nickels to rub together. At the time $48,000 was so much money for me that I could hardly imagine even borrowing it. I can still remember her advice as I pondered my decision. She said, “Don, over the years this house has been like a gold mine for me. Buy it and it will be a gold mine for you.” I stand here thirty years later to testify that Mrs. Markle, God rest her wonderful soul, was absolutely right!

Ralph Harnack is now 58 years old. He’s worked at the Hubbard Foundry for nearly 35 years and he and Betty have resided in their modest, yet well-maintained home on Hubbard’s east side for 33 years. Sometimes when Betty writes a check to pay for merchandise at local stores a young clerk will say, “Is all of the information on your check current?” Betty loves to reply, “Yes, Dear, since before you were born!” The Harnacks have raised their two sons on the east end and their work ethic and dependability have allowed them to live a good life. They’re not rich, but they don’t want for the necessities of life. They don’t have any debt or financial worries. This is a far cry from the first four years of their marriage when he and Betty resided in a beat-up mobile home at the Hubbard trailer park.

These were the days before Ralph got his job at the foundry. He worked as a delivery man at the local furniture store making a whopping $2.05 per hour. His wife Betty made the minimum wage of $1.25 per hour working as a sales clerk in the cosmetics department at Hubbard Rexall Drugs. Sometimes the lipstick company would authorize the stores to discard dated merchandise and the boss would give unused lipsticks to Betty. She would sell them to the women that lived in the trailer court for fifty-cents a piece and she and Ralph would splurge on dinner and a movie. Ralph picked up extra cash skirting mobile homes at the park. For those of you who are not well-versed in mobile home terminology, skirting is the metal that goes between the bottom of the trailer and the ground, keeping wind and creatures out! Whenever a new trailer was hauled into the park, Ralph would bang on the door and ask the owner if he needed someone to skirt the home. Because he charged only $120, complete with materials and labor, Ralph usually got the job. It was when Ralph was in this strange side-business of skirting mobile homes that he first met Vaughn Campbell.

Vaughn and his wife had recently purchased a mobile home which was blocked and leveled when Ralph knocked on the door. After a brief discussion Vaughn and Ralph agreed on a price to skirt the home. The next day was a Saturday and Ralph told Vaughn he would begin at first light and have Vaughn’s trailer skirted by sundown. Vaughn had just been accepted to graduate school at Hubbard State University, pursuing a Ph.D. in biochemistry. However, as a condition of his admittance he was taking a series of three difficult exams to give the university a “baseline” of his accumulated chemistry knowledge. The next day, when Vaughn’s last exam was completed and graded, his professors told him that he had some “substantial knowledge gaps” that would have to be compensated for, should he “choose to go through with the Ph.D. program” in biochemistry. Vaughn was tremendously discouraged, even distraught. As he headed back to the trailer park he decided not to proceed with his Ph.D. program. He would go back to the lot where had purchased his mobile home and figure out a way to get his money back.

There was only one problem. By the time Vaughn pulled his car into the parking space next to his mobile home, there appeared Ralph Harnack from around the corner with a big smile on his face. “How do you like the job, Vaughn? Ralph said. “Ain’t it beautiful?” “No”, said Vaughn. “I’ve got to take this thing back to the dealer.” That’s when Ralph said to Vaughn, “Heck, Vaughn, you can’t take it back now. It’s skirted to the ground. It’s kind of a permanent structure now. You’re stuck now; the dealer won’t take it back now that it’s skirted in.” Vaughn was at the end of his rope. He didn’t know what to do. He had secured a loan for the mobile home and had paid his lot rent already; then there was this grubby Ralph Harnack guy who had bolted the damn thing to the ground! After stewing about his predicament over the weekend Vaughn decided to give it a try and stay in the Ph.D. program after all. “I’d be out of here if that Harnack guy had waited another day to skirt the trailer”, he thought.

Six months after Vaughn’s trailer had been skirted Ralph and Betty bought their little home on the east side of town and left the trailer park for good. Vaughn and his wife lived in their mobile home for the next four years and he was awarded his Ph.D. in biochemistry from Hubbard State University. Soon afterwards Vaughn and his wife moved to New York where he began his career doing research on new genetic variations of food crops. Over the next thirty years both men went their separate ways; Ralph labored as a common foundry worker while Vaughn became internationally famous as one of the world’s outstanding biochemists. As Ralph walked home on snowy winter evenings, lunchbox in hand, covered with foundry grime, Vaughn presented his brilliant research findings in places like Rome and London as he developed new plant varieties that literally saved millions from starvation. While Vaughn never informed Ralph about the specifics of his job, strangely both men exchanged Christmas cards over the years, keeping track of the births of their children and other important family matters.

Two months ago Ralph and Betty received a wedding invitation from New York. Vaughn’s youngest daughter was getting married and Ralph and Betty were invited. Tucked into the invitation were two round-trip airplane tickets from Madison to New York. “Gosh, I guess Vaughn really wants us to be there!” said Betty. They attended the wedding. Despite the fact that nearly everyone in attendance was some sort of famous scientist or research expert, Vaughn and his wife went out of the way to make Betty and Ralph feel at home. During the reception Vaughn and his wife sat and talked with Ralph and Betty nearly the entire evening. After arriving back in Hubbard Betty and Ralph pondered why an important guy like Vaughn would even invite them to the wedding, let alone spend so much time with them. As Vaughn retired for the evening after witnessing the marriage of his daughter, he reflected on his long and fruitful career. He thought about his wonderful family, and he was genuinely honored that Betty and Ralph came to the wedding. Vaughn had come to realize what few people ever know; that in the huge continuum of time and space the lives of two people can cross but for an instant and that can make all the difference! After all, thought Vaughn, if that common foundry worker in Hubbard, Wisconsin hadn’t skirted in that trailer on exactly that particular day, thousands may have starved. The world would indeed have been a different place.

When Dave returned to Hubbard from San Diego on Friday evening the snow was coming down fast and furious. This wasn’t one of those dry Canadian clippers with the consistency of light powder, it was a southern storm laden with wet gulf moisture. By the time Dave had eaten dinner and gone out to the garage the snow was so deep that the plow on his John Deere tractor couldn’t even push the stuff ten feet. It was time to get serious and break out “Old Simp”, his trusty five-horse, two stage, snow blower!

By the time the weekend was over, Hubbard had received 29 inches of snow. Dave spent 16 hours grabbing the handles of Old Simp, blowing tons of snow from the driveway and sidewalks. Dave’s Simplicity snow blower was purchased thirty years ago at a store in downtown Hubbard. About fifteen years ago the blower required new bearings and bushings on the main auger shaft but the dealer was going out of business and told Dave that the repairs would be so expensive that he should buy a new blower instead. That’s when Dave’s friend, an old-timer named Bill Waller, volunteered to repair Old Simp. A week later, after ten bucks worth of parts and four hours of labor, Old Simp working as good as new! Both Bill and the store owner passed away years ago, but the old snow blower lives on, grinding through show banks and flailing ice and slush fifteen feet in the air.

During the weekend Dave was visited at least ten times by neighborhood students from Hubbard State University. College students almost never pay any attention to Dave but because he owns a snow shovel he was as popular as a rock star during the blizzard weekend. You might wonder what a college student does with a snow shovel. I’ll give you a hint; it has nothing to do with cleaning the snow from sidewalks, driveways, or steps. It has everything to do with digging out the college kid’s car! Once the car is shoveled free from the prison of its temporary snow bank a snow shovel has absolutely no other possible earthly use!

Marsh Lipper Daley, the mayor of Hubbard, received more phone calls from constituents during and after the blizzard than any time in her political career. Like all towns in Wisconsin, Hubbard has a lot of plows, trucks, and city workers to deal with snow storms. However, snow-removal infrastructure is intended to handle the average snow fall, not 29 inches in 28 hours. This time the snow was so deep that it couldn’t simply be plowed to the side of the road. The snow banks from the plows reached five feet tall along the streets, necessitating the use of front end loaders and dump trucks to haul the white stuff away. The rutted streets looked like a war zone, with stalled cars facing various directions as if they had been flung about by a tornado. It was a catch 22. Drivers couldn’t move their cars because they were buried in snow, yet plows couldn’t get down the street because cars were in the way. An endless line of dump trucks rotated from the streets to the east end dump, where the snow was deposited in piles reaching over twenty feet in height. Marsha’s phone rung relentlessly. Everyone wanted the snow removed…immediately. What’s a politician to do?

For a person who has never witnessed this enormous amount of snow, the situation would be almost unimaginable. Even for Hubbardites the storm was an occasion, as it was the largest single snowfall in fifteen years. Dave wasn’t excited about spending his entire weekend behind a snow blower, having thought of at least a hundred better ways to spend a weekend while his tired hands gripped the handles of Old Simp. However, Dave was philosophical about the blizzard. After all, if you’re from Wisconsin you better know how to live with snow. Complaining about snow is unpatriotic for a true Wisconsinite; if you don’t like snow or want to deal with it, you should shut up and move somewhere else.