ASHLAND, Ky. – Rupert “Doc” Rice, who put his stamp on Ashland football way back in 1942 as a no-fear running back who bashed opponents with a relentless running style, died on Friday in Lexington.

Rice was the oldest living Tomcat at 93 years of age.

Those 1942 Tomcats were a grand bunch, finishing a 10-0 season with a 70-0 victory over Russell in five-year-old Putnam Stadium. But it was a game the previous week against Manual, a 7-6 road victory for Ashland, that clinched the mythical championship, at least in the mind of the Tomcats.

The only touchdown came when J.C. Kennard returned the second half kickoff for a score, zigging and zagging all the way down the field, remembered Paul DeHart Sr. in a 2013 interview. Jim Stith kicked the extra point.

Rice had a long run to the Manual 5-yard line late in the game to seal the hard-fought victory.

A young man named Charles Ramey was the coach of the Tomcats and he was named Kentucky Coach of the Year in 1942 by the Courier Journal.

The coach of Manual that year was none other than former Ashland Tomcat coach Paul Jenkins, Ramey’s former high school coach in 1933 and dear friend who would later become his son’s godfather.

Ramey left Ashland because of a call to duty with the Marines where he was in World War II battles from 1943 to 1945. Second Lt. Charles Ramey piloted a battalion of armored amtracks and knocked out Japanese battalions who had secretly infiltrated the island of Peleliu.

Rice was one of several members from the 1930s and 1940s classes at Ashland High School – Dick Patrick, Bun Wilson, Jack Nuckols, Rudy Gute and Ralph Felty were some of the others -who fought in the Battle of Okinawa. More than 100,000 Japanese combatants died in that battle, one of the last of World War II.

Doc Rice was a corporal in the Marines. His nickname of “Doc” came because his father was a doctor and it stuck with him for a lifetime.

Back in those days, there weren’t playoff games but Ashland and Glasgow were the only undefeated teams remaining that season. Both put dibs in on the state title.

Doc Rice, who broke three ribs and his nose that season, was one of the reasons why the Tomcats held that status. He was joined in the backfield by Kennard and Spencer Heaton and Ashland dominated opponents with a punishing single-wing attack.

Only three games were even close — 12-7 over Charleston High, 19-6 over Ironton and the win over Manual. Ashland never allowed more than a touchdown in a game and had five shutouts on the way to outscoring foes 341-31.

Doc and Jackie Rice were my neighbors when my family first moved to Grandview Drive in the 1960s. It was sad to hear about Doc’s passing but his Tomcat legacy will live on.

The apple has always been one of my favorite fruits, not to mention a part of my childhood.

I just never knew I was eating it the wrong way all these years.

More on that later.

Apples and I really do go back quite a bit. I’m sure, even as a baby, some of the mushed food prepared for me was apples.

But my real introduction to apples came in our back yard on Grandview Drive. A lot of that area was at one time an apple orchard and many of the apple trees were still fruit bearing and healthy when we moved there, including four or five in our back yard.

That all sounds well and good. You could always find a fresh apple to eat and didn’t have to go to the market or grocery store to purchase it. Just step into the back yard and pluck one off the tree.

We did that often, too, and many times Mom would fry up a mess of those apples. Wow! That was some good eating.

But the worst part about apple trees is all those apples don’t stay on the tree. Remember, we had healthy apple trees and when the clumps got too big for the branches, they fell to the ground.

Have you ever tried to mow the lawn around a bunch of apple trees, where apples have fallen to the ground? Take my advice. Don’t try it. You’ll have smoother rides on a Pogo stick.

And there’s nothing that attracts bees more than a bunch of rotten apples. Those beautiful green apples turned a hideous brown within a few days of hitting the ground.

Before we mowed the lawn, we had to pick up apples. Hundreds of apples. Maybe thousands (OK, hundreds).

We would have garbage bags full of rotten apples by the time we were finished. And then we had to cut the grass where they once laid. It was a monumental task for me and my brother most of the time.

Besides having them at my disposal to eat whenever I wished, that cleanup experience kind of, uh, soured me and my brother on the whole apple experience.

Rotten to the core? Some of them were.

Oh, I still liked them and wouldn’t usually turn down a big Red Delicious or Granny Smith if offered.

I still like them, even if those memories of picking up apples off the ground with a million Yellowjackets buzzing around kind of gives me the heebie-jeebies.

We used to have apple fights in the neighborhood, too. The only thing worse than getting stung by a Yellowjacket sitting inside a rotten apple was getting plunked by one from somebody throwing them at you from about 30 feet. We used garbage can lids as shields, but it was never totally protective (“If you can dodge an apple, you can dodge a ball,” to paraphrase the crazy coach from the “Dodgeball” movie.)

Of course, dodging apples improved my dexterity and firing these apples back maybe enhanced my arm strength and control for pitching in baseball. So there was an upside.

So me and apples, even though we have a history, we’ve been mostly good for each other.

But it wasn’t until this week that I was shown the secret (via the Facebook and the Internet) to how you correctly eat an apple.

Do you eat your apple from the side, like corn on the cob, and throw away the core?

If so, you’re eating it the wrong way.

Go from bottom to top, or top to bottom, and you’ll waste practically nothing but a few seeds. The core of the apple seemingly disappears while you’re eating. I’m not kidding.

I tried it on Monday and it was like solving the Rubik Cube. I ate my apple from bottom to top and, aside from a few seeds (And, relax, it’s not like an apple tree is going to grow in your belly), gulped down the whole piece of fruit. The core was never seen.

I’ve told people this treasure for years and they all are looking at me like I’ve eaten an apple filled with worms.

But I’m telling you, try it.

The average person, when eating an apple the wrong way, throws away roughly 30 percent of the apple. There is no waste, save for a couple of seeds, if you eat it the right way.

Bottoms up — or tops down if you prefer — the next time you bite into a Red Delicious.

Since the mid-1980s or so, the Turkey Trot in Russell has brought together friends and family for a brisk jog on Thanksgiving morning.

It was started by retired U.S. Magistrate Judge Joe Hood and a few other friends who decided to go for a morning run on the holiday and provide some non-perishable foods for the hungry in the process. It was all in good fun.

My how it’s grown over the last three decades and much of that has been because of Ruthie Lynd’s leadership with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Russell High School, who has cared for the run like it’s her own baby for years. Ruthie and husband John are tireless FCA leaders whose hearts are bigger than a 50-pound turkey.

The run has been for fun and fellowship, but it also helped fill the food pantry for Helping Hands in Greenup County. The only entry fee was to bring some food and people turned out by the hundreds to participate in the unofficially timed race.

It was no frills and no guaranteed t-shirt, but it was the biggest 5K in northeastern Kentucky. At its peak, there were more than 800 runners. Last year about 500 braved some cold rain. It became a place for runners to have reunions and families came to watch, run or walk no matter the weather.

The Turkey Trot will go on again Thursday morning but as an official race. There’s a $25 race-day entry fee and Alan Osuch, the guru of 5Ks in this area, will be organizing. You’ll get a t-shirt and the race will be expertly run, timed and insured and there will, of course, be food and trophies like at all Osuch events.

Ruthie learned last year that these downtown runs needed insurance and that costs money, too. The best answer was for an organization that puts on 5Ks to take over running the race. It was the right call.

Some may be upset that it’s no longer a “free event” but any profit that comes from the race still goes to Helping Hands – and runners can still bring cans of food if they want.

Even though it was a “free event,” a lot of time and effort was put into the race by the Lynds and others on the holiday. They did it because they loved it and she will still be front and center, cheering every runner across the finish line like she always did.

It’s understandable that entire families won’t be able to participate because of the entry fee and the numbers may not ever reach the incredible totals of recent years. But hopefully the tradition will continue because it’s a good one and one that has benefited Helping Hands in Greenup County for years, not to mention bringing families to a fun event.

The area should be thankful to have a Turkey Trot for those runners who want to do something cool before the big meal is served later in the day. It showcases downtown Russell and can still be a reunion highlight on Thanksgiving.

A nice run, quality t-shirt and the good feeling of doing something for Helping Hands should trump that entry fee on a day where most of us have more to be thankful for than we deserve.

When we came home from my in-laws on Christmas Day last year, there was a Brooks Robinson autographed baseball in a plastic case sitting on my porch.

No card and no message. Just the baseball in its plastic case.

My grandson, who was born in April 2017, is named Brooks Wyatt. His mother and father named him after Brooks Robinson, the Hall of Fame third baseman for the Baltimore Orioles.

Even though this gift didn’t have tag on it, the fingerprints were obvious to us.

We knew it was Don Frailie. That was just his style of doing things. I never found out for sure, because he’d never admit to it if asked, but I knew.

On Wednesday night around 11:30, Ashland became a sadder place because Don Frailie’s big heart stopped beating. What a sad, sad day.

Don’s passing hurts anyone who ever met this kind and caring man and many of you who never even knew him but were probably impacted. His life was always about helping others and never shining the light on himself.

I count myself incredibly blessed to have known him, to witness the light inside him that came bursting out when he saw a need, to watch him be that silent helping hand. He was the humblest man you’d ever meet.

Counting Don Frailie as a friend made you warm inside. I wish everyone could have experienced it. Maybe that’s why his death hurts so much.

In a lot of instances, he was your friend and you may never have known it. That’s how Don Frailie rolled in life, a trail of pure goodness sprinkled behind him. With his country ways, he could have easily been a character on “The Andy Griffith Show,” but there was no acting with him. He was genuine, a true friend and a giant in this town.

He was an attorney and a teacher and brilliant in both professions and even coached some of Ashland’s greatest athletes during a stint at Coles Jr. High. He was a husband and a father and he loved his late wife Karen and his daughter Mary Beth more than anything this world had to offer.

Behind them, the man adored baseball. He was a walking baseball encyclopedia. Don was Google for baseball before there was Google. He loved his Braves, Milwaukee and Atlanta, and when he was a little guy playing in the first year of Little League in Ashland, Don played first base for the Giants. He rolled up his sleeves like Ted Kluszewski, the muscular first baseman for the Reds who liked to show off his biceps.

Don was always that behind-the-scenes person who made sure things got done but never wanted any credit for it. He helped me on more than one occasion with the costs associated with our CP-1 Hall of Fame ceremony.

His wife Karen was one of the best English teachers that Ashland and Rose Hill ever witnessed. She was the epitome of perfect grammar and a beautiful individual. When she lost her life to cancer, a piece of Don went with her. He was devastated as any of us would be. He visited her grave at the Ashland Cemetery every day where he told her about what was going on in his life. He never stopped loving her with all his being.

Don immediately began a trust, the Karen Frailie Christian Education Fund, that provided teachers with the tools they needed. Each teacher at Rose Hill Christian School had $300 to spend on their class each year. And, by the way, if they needed more, all they had to do was ask.

His gracious life has impacted so many.

Two years ago, he made sure every unmarked grave in the “Baby Section” of the Ashland Cemetery had a marker. All at his expense. All because of his love.

I can only imagine his entry into heaven on Wednesday night being reunited with Karen, the love of his life, and having so many of these unnamed babies rushing to hug him. The long line of those he helped over the years who wanted to thank him probably stretched for miles on those golden streets.

When we all get to heaven. What a day of rejoicing that will be!

A day of loss for us but what a day of victory for him.