JIM “PAPPY” MOORE: Harry Whitworth’s Sage Advice

In 1977 I was working at the Texas Legislature on the Senate side. I came in contact with many people. One of those was a man named Harry Whitworth. He was in his late 50s. He had many accolades. Born in 1920 he was a self made man.

He served in the U.S. Navy in World War II, and ran for State Representative while still in the Navy and overseas, 1946. He won that seat and became a fixture in Texas politics. Harry became a favorite of people like John Connally. He was solid.

In due time Harry became a big dog in the Chemical Industry, a voice heard in Austin. I met him when he was 57 and I was 27 and working for Senator Ike Harris of Dallas. I had been introduced to him by his wife, Joan Holloway Whitworth, who had been my boss at the Texas Aeronautics Commission. Joan was smart as a whip, a strong administrator, and a lady boss when there were not a lot of lady bosses in high positions.

One of the perks of being a legislative aide to a powerful State Senator is being a contact point for those who wished to lobby for various positions. Part of my job was doing just that. People tend to think in negative terms of those who lobby, but in reality they are a pretty smart bunch of people and a great resource when one is trying to assess the impact of proposed legislation.

The thing that made Harry stand out was none of that, however. He got really serious with me one time and told me “Jim, I want you to remember what I am about to tell you, and keep it close to you if you remember nothing else.” He then gave me great pitch for being involved in youth baseball once I had kids in the future.

Harry talked about how busy we all become in politics, and law, and doing things that make us money and get us the spotlight. He cautioned that all that had to take a backseat to working with your kids when it came to sports in those age six to twelve years. “Jim, be the guy who makes time for coaching that baseball team. You will not regret it, and neither will your kids.”

My own Dad had died six years earlier, and this sound “Dad” advice was most welcome. That time would roll around for me in 1987, ten years later. My son was five years old and wanted to play T-ball. I got into it, too. And for the next six years youth baseball was part of our lives. I took off early from work to make those afternoon practices and games. Few dads did. Those who did gained something you can’t get otherwise.

I never regretted making youth baseball a priority, and I became the Dad who would take home the kids whose ride never seemed to be there, or their Dad was mostly absent.

Harry sure was right about all of it. More important that politics, than lobbyists, than industries. You get a slice of time to contribute to your young children’s activities, and doing it should be a priority.

Harry passed away in 1994, not long after my son played his last Little League game. Here’s to you, big guy! You made a difference in my life and the life of my son.