The Bodock Post

Coming soon, two of my writing friends and I will be publishing the first edition of our new newsletter. When I ceased writing the Ridge Rider News, Carl Wayne Hardeman asked permission to continue it or perhaps something similar in the way of a monthly newsletter.  When I told him I would support his efforts as long as the new publication had a different name, he and Ralph Jones asked me to help them to carry on a work I had begun. 

I have agreed to serve as Associate Editor and Publisher of The Bodock Post.  The three of us will take rotating turns in the editor's chair, but it falls my lot to format each issue, post in on our website and email it to our subscribers.  We have not decided on whether or not to print and distribute it via U.S. Mail, and for now the email version is free to anyone interested in it.

If you're interested in signing up, there's a form at http://www.bodockpost.com/ you can use to contact us.

Epilogue

It took approximately fifty-three years for us discover the joy of writing. After about a year of journalizing we began Ridge Rider News and mailed copies to three households. Our reasons to initiate a weekly newsletter were varied but would most certainly include a desire to leave a written record for our descendants, while using our pen to vent a few frustrations. To our great surprise, our readership grew as friends heard about our venture. An even greater surprise was to discover that folks actually enjoyed our writing.

As the years clicked by, maintaining what started largely as a hobby became a more and more demanding endeavor, with respect to our personal time. Thus, on the anniversary of our twelfth year of publication we chose to "close shop."

Ridge Rider News, the newsletter, is officially retired. However, this website will remain open for the foreseeable future, allowing family and friends and all others interested in our writing to peruse our archives of six hundred twenty-six weekly issues.

Our pen will likely remain active but not for the benefit of Ridge Rider News.

At this time, a joint venture is being considered by two friends plus this writer to produce an email-only monthly publication. Plans are still preliminary, but a September '08 issue is a real possibility. Persons interested in receiving our first issue should contact us by completing our comment form.

Readers Respond - RRN Closes Shop

Largely in the order they were received, the following are responses from some of our appreciative readers, who upon learning Ridge Rider News was being discontinued, chose to let us know how RRN had impacted them. We are grateful for their expressions of appreciation.

"We celebrate with you your decision to retire from this challenge! You've "done good" as folks say. I think it's been a tremendous but valuable effort, especially for your family. They will love the heritage you have left them, whether they know it now or not! God Bless!" ~ Pontotoc, MS

"The Ridge Rider, especially the early issues, introduced me to the Pontotoc city and county that played a significant part in my life but especially my family's life. I only attended school a few weeks of my freshman year until graduation. At that time my family lived in Longview. Those seven miles were a great deal farther in those days when there were only school buses and often hitched rides to the county seat. I know little about the town that shaped me for good in proportion to the time I spent there. You added depth to my understanding of myself as I came to know the names and people and events that were shaping me at that time. Our family moved to Pontotoc during my college years, I was ordained in FBC but was only an official member for two summers between school. I claim Pontotoc as my town and FBC as my church. We will be celebrating our 50th reunion next year. I guess I'll be there. My wife is celebrating hers in N. Kentucky this August. Thanks for your gift of writing." ~ Lexington, Ky

"Wayne, I hate to see you go, but I know you must be tired. I have enjoyed everything you have written. I honestly don't know how you have accomplished the feat all the years. My hat is off to you and Barbara. Thanks for the Memories."~ Dallas Texas

"Congratulationson your 12th Anniversary Issue! I am disappointed not to be reading on a regular basis with you, but I have saved your sites. How outstanding Ridge Rider News was, and I feel so fortunate that I was one of your readers! I treasure your comments about me, and Mensa definitely treasures your article about her! She felt that she was definitely the Queen of the Kitties! I do pray for wonderful times for you and your family! And yes,God bless you all!" ~ Tupelo, MS

"I'm sad! I cried reading the last issue. Oh, and I never even got mentioned. Ha, ha. We will need to have a family discussion about this." ~ Pontotoc, MS

"Thanks for all of your work through these years. It has been a good ride." ~ Pontotoc, MS
"Shame, Shame, Shame - one decent e-mail a week and now it is going away... I have enjoyed reading the articles about your family and points of interest, your travels and job. Twelve years is a long time to continue such a task as writing the perfect news letter and I congratulate you on your work (also Barbara and Sara Sue). I'm not sure what I will read when I logon to my e-mail, but I will surely miss the RRN. Spend your newfound time with the things you enjoy and consider this the beginning of retirement. We will look forward to seeing an update on what's going in Pontotoc and your part of Supervalu when you find time to tap out a paragraph or two.
Thanks again for the weekly reading." ~ Atlanta, GA

"I am so sorry to read you are ending RRN I have enjoyed reading your stories. I have made a point to read this as much as possible because it makes me feel a little closer to Pontotoc and my friends. It has been enjoyable and I will miss it." ~ Caude, TX

"Just a brief note of appreciation to you and Barbara for many years of fun and enjoyment from RRN. Very best wishes for you and the family for the future." ~ Columbus, GA

"Have so enjoyed the newsletter, but I certainly understand. Thanks!" ~ Hernando, MS

"Thanks for all the years of Ridge Rider News I have enjoyed. Though I have heartily disagreed with many of your assessments of politics, I respect you for unfailingly telling how you felt and believed." ~ Pontotoc, MS

"Thanks for sharing RRN with so many. I know it has become a part of my Monday morning ritual at work -- it's the first thing I read when I open my e-mail. Although my mother grew up in Pontotoc, I have lived here for only the past three or four years, and I am still learning about the people and connections in this town, so RRN was a great window for me...I really appreciated RRN as a source of information about the people and events in Pontotoc that I probably would never have learned about any other way. Thanks for being a window to a lot of us non-relatives too!" ~ Pontotoc, MS

"I will greatly miss RRN, although I am a new reader. I have read all the back issues and searched the articles by names of people. What a great job you all have done. I have lived away from Pontotoc since graduation...I grew up on the other end of Margin Street and have spent many hours at Mrs. Long's house you have talked about. She was a great friend to our family for a long time. So it has been good to read about not only Pontotoc, but my neighborhood. My parents moved there in 1938 or 1939. We also knew Ralph Jones' parents. Carter and Austin Grocery was an important part of our lives for many years. My dad had great respect for your dad and always spoke highly of him. Thank you for the glimpses into your family. They remind me so much of my own experiences. That generation worked so hard, but enjoyed the smallest pleasures life brought. Take care, enjoy your leisure time and please write about Pontotoc occasionally." ~ Kosciusko, MS

"...The Ridge Rider News certainly filled a need in your own life while at the same time you filled a void in the lives of your readers. You gave news a new and different twist in Pontotoc and included news that was not available anywhere else. You were not afraid to let a light search out parts of your personal life and that of your family, a most notable thing. You told the truth, even when it was sometimes not so popular. The "Political Correctness Thing" did not stop you from expressing what needed to be said in a clear and tactful way, thank you for that!..." ~ Germantown, TN
"It is with sadness that I read this last issue. You all mean so much to me and I always looked forward to these weekly communications. Reading the Ridge Rider News was my way of staying in touch. You have been a blessing to me." ~ Olive Branch, MS

" I just read your final RRN, I am sorry to see it end. I have enjoyed reading it over the years and was always entertained and engaged by your stories. Enjoy the recapturing of some free time!" ~ Kenosha, WI

"I am sorry that RRN will be discontinued, but I can understand. You have done a great job, and brought me a lot of entertaining and interesting reading."~ Vicksburg, MS

"I appreciate receiving the newsletter for the past several years. I have enjoyed it so very much. ~ Thaxton, MS
"These past 12 years for [us] have passed fast. I believe the reason for the fast passing of time has been each week expecting and receiving Ridge Rider News, each week knowing that it would be in our mailbox right on time rain or shine. ...Congratulations on 12 years as Editor of Ridge Rider News. [We] both wept in reading this last Ridge Rider News. As we have told you in the past, RRN was read at bedtime. I don't know why, except to say it sort of put our thoughts into another realm right before we would go to sleep, [sort of ] like watching the Andy Griffith Show on TV but with a more fulfilling feeling." ~ Eufaula, AL

"It is hard to believe I have received my last edition of Ridge Rider News! I will miss this highly interesting news and the bits of trivia every week, as it has been such a pleasure to receive my very first one. I was a great admirer of Miss Ada Guthrie. [A friend'] shared your tribute to her with me. We discussed the RRN and she told me she was sure I could get on the mailing list. How fortunate I was! ... You have compiled a record of local happenings and of local people with grace, and I am sure all of your readers will agree with me that a weekly highlight has gone... There is no way to say thank you for years of unrewarded effort, but i will always have a deep sense of gratitude and love for both of you." ~ Pontotoc, MS

"We have really enjoyed the RRN - Sorry we missed so many of them. Thank you for sending it our way. We already miss it! Wayne, don't think you're losing it; you have just entered the aging generation. Good wishes to you both." ~ Pontotoc, MS

RRN Final Issue

This issue of Ridge Rider News marks the completion of our twelfth year of publication. It took a year or two of sporadic publications for RRN to settle into the weekly issue most readers have come to expect, regularly and consistently. As a newsletter, RRN has grown from a readership of less than a handful of individuals to now more than one hundred households.

In RRN’s infancy, we sought a means to vent some of the frustrations we were experiencing in several arenas of life. We admit the ability to "get things off ones chest," helped reduce our blood pressure, but RRN has always been more than a means to an end.

Almost from the onset, Ridge Rider News has been about leaving something behind for our descendants. We have never aspired to accumulate great wealth, and, from a young age, established personal financial goals, which we would describe simply as "making a comfortable living."

We recognize that at the time of our passing there will likely be very little money and perhaps not a great many possessions for our children to "squabble over" and for the grandchildren to eventually inherit.

However, short of some sort of natural disaster or cataclysmic event, there will be six hundred twenty-six issues of Ridge Rider News available for our grandchildren to peruse, use, or abuse. If they grow up to be materially minded, they’ll be sorely disappointed that all that we left them were the copies of this newsletter, and they may possibly cart off their inheritance to a dumpster or landfill.

We can’t control their responses, but we shall pass from this life believing they’ll find within the pages of Ridge Rider News the answers to a lot of the questions they will surely have about what things were like "back then," what sort of persons their grandparents were, and how it is they came to be so smart (smile).

Unless we are dead wrong about our grandchildren, Ridge Rider News will be seen by them as a window into the lives of their forbears, a window that’s always there for them to look through, if only they take the time to do so. Will this not be more precious to them than gold? Continue reading...

Dynamite Hill - Death of a Salesman

Jimmy and Linda Crausby

Oddly, my aunt called him her brother, but her sister, my mother, called him Jimmy. Two persons with a common mother and different fathers are half-siblings, but Mom only admitted such was the case when the point was pressed. Perhaps Mom’s reason for withholding full family recognition of her half-brother was rooted in the times, where persons born outside of wedlock were often ostracized. Perhaps Mom’s reasoning ran much deeper. After all, she had idolized her father (William Fredrick "Fred" Crausby), and when he died following injuries from a bus/car wreck, she was devastated.

What followed was rarely discussed in the open atmosphere of conversations in the dining room or living room, but my late Aunt Jo phrased it a few months prior to her death in dated terms, "Mama acted ugly."

My grandmother’s "ugliness" netted me an uncle, James “Jimmy” Crausby, five years older than me, but I was not allowed to call him uncle, as mother insisted “Jimmy” was sufficient. Mom’s admonition was not a command, rather she phrased it in such a way that I understood she would prefer I not call Jimmy Crausby, Uncle Jimmy.

“No, you don’t need to say uncle. Jimmy is just fine,” Mom would tout on the few occasions I quizzed her on the subject.

A rift in the relationship between my mother and her mother would survive in varying degrees until my grandmother’s death in 1973. I was never told the name of Jimmy’s father. Mama had a way of changing the subject or deflecting the question whenever she was asked about Jimmy’s dad. Most likely, Mom found it galling that her half-brother was given her dad’s surname.

My mother was eleven years old at the time of her father’s death. How soon after her husband’s death grandmother starting "acting ugly," is no longer germane, but at age sixteen, my mother married William Henry Carter who offered to "get her away from all this," an apparent reference to the disreputable circumstances at home.

In my early years, I didn’t know Jimmy Crausby very well. My family moved from Pontotoc when I was two years old and returned nine years later. I have a few memories of visiting my grandmother, Mama Nona, and her second husband, "Little Man" Enlow, but I don’t recall anything of Jimmy Crausby during the years we lived away from Pontotoc.

Mama Nona and Jimmy lived on Inzer Street for a few years before selling their place to my Aunt Jo and Uncle Julius Lee "Pearlie" Collins. 

My parents’ home, the old Owen place, on Woodland Street, was also home to my grandparents, Hayden and Becky Carter, formerly of Thaxton, at the time of their respective deaths in 1960. Later, around 1962, Mama Nona and Jimmy moved into the "other side" of our home on Woodland Street, the part my grandparents had previously utilized.

My memories of Jimmy Crausby largely began during my later years of high school and then college. I remember Aunt Jo buying a new 1958 Chevrolet, which Jimmy drove on occasion. During this time, Jimmy’s best friend was Billy Joe Kidd. The two of them spent a lot of time together. Both of them enjoyed singing and were members of West Heights Baptist Church in Pontotoc.

I was probably a college student at the time Jimmy invited me to go deer hunting with him. Mama figured I would get shot in the woods, and she wouldn’t hear of me going off with Jimmy. However, when Jimmy and Billy Joe became interested in archery, I did get to go with them occasionally to an archery range a few miles southeast of Pontotoc, just off Hwy. 41. I remember it was hard for me to pull a bow with a draw weight of forty pounds, but Jimmy and Billy Joe could do pretty well with draw weights of sixty pounds or more.

Jimmy became a salesman for a small wholesale company and visited area stores assigned to his route. Later, he married Linda Todd, whose family lived a block away from my parents. Though, I didn’t attend the marriage ceremony, my sister relates that Billy Joe Kidd sang at the wedding.

"He sang How Great Thou Art, about as well as I’ve ever heard it sung," Sarah shared. "And I’ve heard it sung by persons who were trained for the opera."

One would think that two young men of such a close friendship, would never have become sworn enemies, but it happened. Barbara and I were living in Ripley, Mississippi, at the time the friendship between Jimmy Crausby and Billy Joe Kidd dissolved.

Billy Joe and his wife filed for a divorce and a custody battle ensued over their daughter. In those years, there was nothing like a no-fault divorce, where a husband and wife could break up housekeeping over something trivial or in legal parlance, "irreconcilable differences." Linda, Jimmy’s wife, was a friend of Billy Joe’s wife. She may have influenced Jimmy to testify against his friend.

Jimmy’s testimony, that he walked into Billy Joe’s store (convenience store on Hwy. 9 South) and found Billy Joe on the floor behind the counter in the throes of adultery, may have been the deciding factor in child custody being awarded to Billy Joe’s wife. Whether or not Jimmy supplied the testimony most damaging to his friend’s divorce case, there can be no doubt that Jimmy Crausby nailed his own coffin shut on that day.

When Jimmy Crausby lived on Inzer Street, one of his neighbors was Lamar Roberts. Mr. Roberts’ son Jimmy was a youngster at the time, but he has fond memories of Jimmy Crausby.  Jimmy Roberts, who is now a former State Supreme Court Justice, remembers how Jimmy Crausby was always friendly toward him and his family and how he was impressed that Jimmy Crausby took time to stop and chat with a young kid. Most of us go through life without realizing how the small things we do for others are often the things that others recall about us.

My friend, Judge Jimmy Roberts, also shared he was a law student at Ole Miss when Billy Joe Kidd was on trial for the death of Jimmy Crausby. The trial and its outcome were important to Jimmy, from both a legal perspective and his own personal knowledge of the deceased. Most of the persons who know what actually happened on that fatal December night in 1968 are no longer living, but the testimonies of several witnesses who arrived on the scene that evening provide some insight into what took place.

Shortly after the divorce case was settled, Jimmy Crausby began to receive threatening phone calls. Caller ID didn’t exist in that era, so there was little to support Jimmy’s belief the calls were from either family or friends of Billy Joe Kidd. Also, the caller or callers muffled their voice in order to avoid recognition. As I recall, there were multiple occasions when Jimmy offered to meet with the caller and would drive to a designated place only to have no one show up. After several no-shows, Jimmy was quite angry.

Circumstances often drive persons to desperate measures, and Jimmy took to carrying a .38 revolver in his car. On the night of his death, he received another threatening phone call, but this time, according to family remembrances, he recognized the caller’s voice as that of his former friend, Billy Joe Kidd. The two agreed to meet alone at a site on Clark Street known as Dynamite Hill, so named because of a structure the City of Pontotoc used for the storage of dynamite. At that time, Clark Street connected Hwy. 6 and Brooks Street.

Joe Kidd did not keep his pledge to meet Jimmy Crausby alone. Joe’s dad, Walter "Honey" Kidd, his sister, Dot Kidd, and Joe’s daughter, all arrived at the scene in time to witness and/or participate in the fighting that followed. Apparently, heated words were exchanged before the shooting and knifing occurred. The order of events, as related during the murder trial that followed, is weighted favorably on the part of the defendant as only Joe Kidd and members of his family survived to testify.

Jimmy’s revolver was fired several times with one bullet striking the elder Kidd in the chest fatally wounding him, and one bullet severing the right index finger of Joe Kidd. Joe was also shot in the chest. The abdomen of Jimmy Crausby was opened by a knife wound, partially disemboweling him.

As participants in the melee left the scene, Jimmy Crausby drove his car to the foot of the hill stopping at the intersection of Hwy. 6 and Clark Street.  A passerby, seeing Jimmy bleeding and bent over in front of his car, stopped to assist him. Soon a crowd had gathered. Those who heard Jimmy speak recall him stating that "Joe and Walt" had cut him. Jimmy was eventually taken to the Pontotoc Hospital and died on the operating table.

Among the passersby who stopped on the side of the highway to help, were George and Ruth Simon. Mrs. Simon was wearing a mink coat, and when she heard Jimmy tell bystanders that he was cold, she took her mink coat and placed it on him for warmth. Her selfless act of kindness was one my family has never forgotten.

Though murder charges were filed, a Pontotoc County jury found Joe Kidd guilty of manslaughter. The conviction was later voided and remanded to the lower court by the Mississippi Supreme Court, which ruled in part that the dying declaration was not a dying declaration in that the victim was "in no fear of impending death" but hopeful of recovery at the time the statement was made.

This contradicts the testimony of James H. Brandon, a special investigator for the Memphis Police Department, who was visiting his parents’ home, which is near the intersection where Crausby was found bleeding.

Brandon stated Jimmy said, "I know I’m dying, don’t leave me here, get me to the hospital."

In light of Crausby’s death some five hours after being knifed, it would seem the High Court made a "bad call."

Most members of my family believe Billy Joe held Jimmy while Walter Kidd cut him. Apart from the testimony by members of the Kidd family, we have no way of knowing if Jimmy fired his gun in self-defense or not. Every story has two sides, but unfortunately no one on my family’s side was a witness to the criminal act and Jimmy Crausby didn’t survive to give his account of the events that night on Dynamite Hill.

The tragic outcome of this event is not bereft of speculation: Jimmy Crausby may have been the aggressor in the fight. Billy Joe Kidd may have told the truth. Jimmy may have been the victim of a planned attack on his person. Justice may have been served by the courts.

Yet, two people died in the violence; family and friends on both sides carry emotional scars from that night, but what really happened on Dynamite Hill is something most of us will never know.

Here is a link regarding the appeal of the judgement rendered by the local court and the ultimate overturn of the judgement against the appellant.

https://law.justia.com/cases/mississippi/supreme-court/1972/46661-0.html

The Graduate Son

Jason Lamar Carter came into this world on July 16, 1973, during an economic downturn much worse (my opinion) than what the U.S. is currently experiencing. I’ve often told him the reason we have so many videos and pictures of his sister and comparatively fewer of him is a reflection of his family’s dire financial straits and not that his parents found him less cute, less photogenic, or less lovable than his sibling. Yet, until he starts raising his own family, I doubt he’ll ever accept my explanation.

At eight pounds eleven ounces, he was a hunk compared to his sister who weighed-in at barely more than six pounds. By the time he was two he was wearing clothes sized for a four-year old. During the next couple of years there was much speculation he would become a fullback for the football team of some lucky university. Sadly, before he began his ‘schooling’ his appetite for all foods diminished greatly, to the point he became such a finicky eater that he slimmed down more rapidly than his dad’s dreams of son’s gridiron greatness.

Jason never played a down of high school or college football. It wasn’t that he didn’t have athletic ability, but he had become disinterested in playing football by the time he was old enough to play at the varsity level. His mother and I refused to allow him to participate in pee-wee football, believing organized sports would be best suited for teen participation rather than small children.

Having been a teacher and having seen the stress experienced by many of my students whose parents demanded high marks of their children, I vowed that I would never "stand over" my own children and make them do their homework. My approach was to encourage them to do their best work and assure it was their work, not mine or the work of someone else. I won’t say I failed this aspect of parenting, I’ll simply remark the results were mixed.

Most parents with more than one child understand the expression, "They’re as different as daylight and dark."

I’ve found this to be true with my two children, but I’m sure the differences are not as drastic now as they were in their formative years. My daughter was largely self-motivated when it came to her education and was far more driven to please her parents than was her brother. Rayanne worked hard for good grades; Jason did not. In this respect, Jason is a lot like
his daddy. For good grades, I depended more on what I garnered in the classroom as opposed to homework assignments. I settled for B’s when a little extra effort would have produced A’s. Continue reading>>>

Another Cemetery

Neal Huskison and I were not content to end our travels over county roads in search of cemeteries of our ancestors without making the effort to find the back-roads’ route from my grandparents place near Thaxton to Liberty Hill cemetery near Lafayette Springs, in nearby Lafayette County, Mississippi. But, there simply wasn’t enough daylightremaining to sustain our day’s adventures, and we resolved to try our navigation skills at a later date.

The following Saturday afternoon seemed the perfect afternoon to pick up where we’d left off the prior week. I phoned Neal to check his availability,and he was at my backdoor in a matter of minutes. The warm peach cobbler on the stovetop was too much a temptation for him to resist, and he downed a helping before we left.

Neal and I are actually second cousins due to our respective fathers being first cousins. However, we grew up calling ourselves third cousins to each other. My folks either didn’t understand the "once removed" moniker for kinship or else didn’t use it. Thus, if my dad and Neal’s dad were first cousins, my dad and Neal were second cousins, which made Neal and me third cousins.

Neal and I were better prepared to traverse the meandering paved and sometimes graveled roads of rural Pontotoc and Lafayette counties, as we had both made extensive use of aerial maps of both MSN Live and Google on the Internet in the days prior to our second outing together.

We made our way to Thaxton and points north, traveling along what is not named Carter Road, crossing lands once owned by my relatives. Neal could remember where my great grandparents’ house once stood and recalled visiting there when he was perhaps three or four years old. The house he described, I grew up knowing as the place where a sharecropper and his family lived and must have missed the historical significance of the property then owned by Jessie Carter, my granddad’s brother.

Arriving at the intersection of Hurricane Road and Carter Road, we turned left and soon found CR 214 which led us directly to Liberty Hill Rd. We had traveled perhaps for two miles along Liberty Hill Rd. when we came up behind two women on a four-wheeler. Neal rolled down his window and asked if either of them knew about a cemetery across the road from Liberty Hill cemetery. The driver, the younger of the two, appeared to be a teenager and willing shared her knowledge of the area. Continue reading>>

Beardens Visit

For a number of years, I had the privilege of working with Lamar Bearden. Lamar and I were counterparts in our respective divisions of SUPERVALU, when I began as manager of the Retail Systems department in Indianola in 1990. Lamar worked at the Anniston, Alabama division and later moved to Atlanta.

When the process of regionalization began in earnest in 1995, neither of us was interested in the Director position at the regional office. Lamar didn’t want the responsibility, and I didn’t want to relocate to Atlanta. We ‘sweated’ though the whole downsizing process, kept our jobs, and received different job titles. We became specialists, but since the pay went up, we didn’t mind. Through our association, we became friends, and if it can be said we looked forward to regional meetings, it should be noted we saw them as opportunities to spend time together.
Later, when further consolidations occurred within SUPERVALU, Lamar was given the opportunity to retire. Though now retired from SUPERVALU, Lamar continues to work. He found a twenty-seven store retailer in Atlanta who needed his technical skills. Lamar schedules himself to work Monday through Wednesday, but his wife, Charlene, tells us his typical week exceeds that, and a three-day workweek is the exception not the rule.

If Lamar misses working for SUPERVALU, he never lets on that he does. In fact, he told me a few years ago that he makes more money and has more time to enjoy life than before his retirement.
I can’t remember the year I told Lamar about my newsletter, but after reading a few issues, he and Charlene (Pop and Gaga to their grandchildren) became fans of RRN. Lamar has contributed at least one article to this newsletter. Longtime subscribers may recall Lamar’s story on the annual egg hunt at his house, held primarily for the grandchildren.

I remember that Lamar and Charlene really wanted to attend one of the RRN backyard parties of recent years, but something always came up at the last minute to spoil their plans.

Earlier this year, Lamar phoned me regarding a project involving his group of stores and SUPERVALU Atlanta. At some point in the conversation he stated he and Charlene would be driving through Tupelo on their way to Branson, Missouri in the spring.

"We’d like to stop over and see the Carters on our way," he stated. "We’ll stay the night in Memphis, but we’d like to visit you and Barbara since we’re going to be so close."

"Hey, just let us know when to expect you," I stated. "Y’all can spend the night at our house if you like."

A few weeks ago, Lamar emailed me on a Thursday afternoon to let me know they would be passing through that Saturday afternoon. When Lamar called with an update Saturday morning, Barbara busied herself making a pitcher of tea and a peach cobbler. All was ready when the Beardens arrived around one o’clock.

Our granddaughter, Anna Butler, came over to visit, also, bringing Zoey, the dog. While I had met Lamar’s wife in the nineties on a business trip and had visited in their home in Villa Rica, Georgia, just a few years ago, it would be Anna and Barbara’s first time to meet Lamar and Charlene.

We were able to visit for almost two hours before the two were ready to drive into Memphis for the evening. Lamar and Charlene seemed to enjoy getting to visit our home and see the neighborhood both of which they’ve read about for several years. Barbara and I thoroughly enjoyed having them stop by our house, and we look forward to a time of reciprocal sharing if we happen to be traveling near the Bearden’s present home just south of Atlanta.

Thaxton Trip

Even with a map, it had required a bit of luck and persistence to locate Liberty Hill Cemetery. Then as we were leaving, Neal Huskison, driver of the lead vehicle, asked me if I thought we would be just as well off to continue down the gravel road, rather than turn around and go back the way we came. I agreed the road should take us back to the Lafayette Springs road, and off we went. We hadn’t traveled a mile when we came to a fork.

"Which way?" Neal asked, and before I could respond he made a decision to take the left fork.

A mile or so further we came upon a Tee. Again Neal asked which way but remained stopped until I answered.

Flipping the map upside down to get a sense of direction, I stated, "Take a left."

Jeannie, Shannon’s younger daughter had switched vehicles with Brenda and was beside me in the backseat.

"Did you just turn the map upside down?" she asked.

"Yes."

"My husband thinks it's weird when I do that," she shared.

"Well it sometimes helps," I replied. "Since we’re both Carters, I’d say that might account for our similar thought processes."

We didn’t have to drive very far until we came to Lafayette Springs Road and knew where we were for the first time in a while. Our plans were to stop at Janie Luther’s cabin, where part of the expedition would be spending the night, then drive into nearby Thaxton to visit the Thaxton Cemetery where other Carters are buried. Janie Luther and Ladine, Shannon’s late wife, were half sisters. Janie owns a home in Pontotoc but lately spends a lot of time at the cabin her son built. It’s a modern log cabin, and all the floors and interior walls are wood. After a few minutes spent taking in the cabin and its remote location, it was easy to see why Janie enjoyed staying outside of "the city."

The two young girls had all the traipsing in cemeteries they needed for one day and willingly chose to remain at the cabin with Janie while the rest of us headed to Thaxton. Continue reading>>

Graveyard Tour

After the recognition ceremony at the Museum for my cousin, Shannon Carter, those interested in locating the cemetery in Lafayette County, Mississippi where several of our Carter ancestors are buried loaded into two vehicles for the expedition. I was concerned that some of the gravel roads might have softened and become difficult to navigate because of recent heavy rainfall and had asked Neal Huskison if he would transport some of us in his extended cab pickup.

It would have made more sense for Neal to have returned home with his wife and then bring his truck back to the Museum, but neither of us thought of it until Virginia had left the premises. So, I drove Neal to his house, parked my car there, and we returned in his truck.
The interim provided Brenda the opportunity to photograph her father standing adjacent to the sign in front of the museum. Brenda explained the logo on the sign depicts a picture of her late grandfather and one-time postmaster, Cary Conlee, delivering the mail. Brenda’s mother, Ladine Conlee Carter, was Shannon’s high school sweetheart and his wife of fifty years before she died in 1994.

As a footnote to last week’s article, Shannon’s Plaque, Brenda recently shared the following: "Although he started Carter Wood Products in Starkville, MS, Shannon's business success was as co-founder and VP Production of Howard Furniture Manufacturing Company, which became famous for its oak, family room furniture. He was a partner in this corporation that also included Herschede Hall Clock Company, MotorGuide fishing motors, Rookwood Pottery, and Briarwood Lamp Co."
"His love was collecting antique tools, antique cars (His 1917 Overland won 100's of trophies), and turn of the century Americana, of which most was donated to the Pontotoc Historical Museum. He also donated much of his antique tool collection to Mississippi State University, and they are now displayed in the Forestry building."

"He was President of MOTAA, the Mid-America Old Time Automobile Association and the Mississippi Antique Car Club for years."
When Neal and I returned to the Museum, Mr. Dick Hagans, Brenda, and Shannon rode in the truck with us. Mrs. Doris Hagans, Jeannie, Cary, and Paige rode in a separate vehicle. Continue reading>>

Shannon's Plaque

The caller ID feature of my home phone indicated the call was from Richard Jaggers. Upon answering the phone, I heard the voice of Sammie. I don’t recall the words verbatim, but when she asked had I heard about Shannon, I braced myself for bad news.
Shannon Carter and my dad were first cousins, the result of their respective fathers being brothers. Born in Thaxton, Mississippi, Shannon spent much of his life in Starkville, where he owned a thriving wood products business where his company manufactured grandfather clocks. Shannon is now widowed and living in an assisted living facility in Birmingham near where his younger daughter works.

Thankfully, there was no bad news. Sammie was calling to inform me that Shannon and his two daughters were coming to Pontotoc on Saturday and would be at the Post Office Museum for a recognition ceremony. Sammie wanted to let me know of Shannon’s visit, in case I was free to attend the ceremony. I thanked her for the information and shared I would plan to attend.
An hour or so earlier, my New York uncle, Lamar, had sent me an email asking for help in locating Liberty Hill Cemetery, the site where several of our Carter ancestors are interred. He had written that Shannon and daughter Brenda wanted to visit the cemetery and while Shannon, whose memory is failing rapidly, thought he could find the remote location, Brenda wasn’t so sure and had asked Lamar for help. There was nothing in the email stating the visit was planned for Saturday, else I might have been better prepared for Sammie’s phone call.
I found a couple of maps on the Internet and sent Lamar a response to relay to Brenda. I even offered my willingness to help her and Shannon find the cemetery if their planned visit coincided with me being in Pontotoc. After Sammie called, I sent Lamar another email stating I would be available to help them.
It was my understanding the recognition ceremony would be at 3:00 p.m. Saturday. Shortly before 2:30 p.m., Neal Huskison phoned to ask if I were going to the museum.
"Yeah, I’m going in a little while," I shared. "Are you?"
"Virginia and I are about to leave. I think they’re going to be there at two-thirty."
"Okay, I’ll leave in a few minutes." Continue reading>>

Pontotoc Smoking Ban

On Tuesday, April 1, 2008, the Board of Aldermen for the city of Pontotoc, Mississippi, passed an ordinance banning smoking in all public buildings
in the city. It was a bright day for the overly health conscious petitioners who had sought the ban and a black one for American freedom, particularly
freedom from oppression.

Ignoring the fact that many businesses and restaurants in the city are already non-smoking facilities, a choice freely made by the owners of said businesses and restaurants, and the fact that all government facilities are non-smoking, the Board of Aldermen voted to strike freedom of choice from the rights of the business owners.
Sadly, there are too many citizens in this country who are willing to sell their own freedom while denying certain freedoms to others. Apparently, the Board of Aldermen feels there are individuals in Pontotoc whose ignorance regarding exposure to second hand smoke renders them incapable of choosing a non-smoking section in a restaurant and are therefore in need of the controlling influence of big brother.
The average citizen in Pontotoc will not be adversely affected by the board’s decision, but then neither is the frog in the pot of water being heated on the fire, until it’s too late to do something about it. Citizens who allow the erosion of individual freedoms will one day discover they have
no freedoms.
This time, the board’s decision limited the rights of smokers and business owners. However, since obesity among all age groups is a growing concern, the next freedom denied to citizens of Pontotoc may restrict whether or not obese persons can be served in a restaurant. After all, the Board of Aldermen’s decision to ban smoking in public places was based on their interpretation of the "public good."

UIC Volunteers

My sister says that bad things happen in threes. I doubt there’s anything scientific about her statement, but I’m inclined to agree with her. If there is a similar admonition concerning good things, I’m not aware of it. However, I can say with respect to Collegiate Challenge and Pontotoc County Habitat for Humanity, good things came in threes this year.

This year, for three straight weeks, college students from three separate institutions of higher learning traveled to Pontotoc to work as volunteers on two houses being constructed for two deserving families. The first group flew in from Brunswick, Maine, the second drove over from Georgia and the third drove down from Chicago. The first two groups were a delight for all who met them or worked with them. The third and most recent group was no less delightful than the others, and may have been more diverse. Of the ten students from the University of Illinois at Chicago, there were two students from India, two from Korea, and one from Puerto Rico.

There was considerable diversity among the degrees which the students were seeking. Priya and Maggie (picture on page 2) are striving for medical degrees, with Priya wanting to be a Physicians Assistant and Maggie an MD. Korean natives, Beckie and Sarah (their American names) are Business majors. Lisa, the runt of the litter (also the group’s leader) is majoring in Nutrition. Greg, the lone accounting major, aspires to become a CPA. Archit, from India,
is studying to become a Computer Engineer. Carla is majoring in Education and Rana, pronounced to rhyme with Brenna, is seeking a Masters in MIS (Information Services). Last, but not least, Sam or Samantha, is working on a graduate degree in Sociology.

Keith Thomas, construction supervisor had words of praise for the work effort of all the groups and noted of the Chicago group, "None of them knew what to do when they got here, but they all stepped up to the task and were willing to do anything I asked them to do."

In the four days they worked on the job site, the group was able to get the house framed and almost "in the dry." Of course, these inexperienced carpenters were well supervised by Keith and his assistant Rachel Walker and a couple of local volunteers. Continue reading>>

Fishing Adventure

Rarely, if ever, does a fishing trip with Gordon Sansing, Lee Gordon, and Jim Hess turnout to be simply a day at the lake. Instead, that which was first conceived as a day or two of fun and relaxation oft becomes an adventure not entirely dissimilar to that of Easterners, who, fired with the "pioneer spirit, made their way westward across the plains often pushing to the west coast of early America.

Those who migrated west sold or forsook most of their possessions in order to lighten the prairie schooners that held supplies and food-stores needed for their long journey. Groups sometimes traveled caravan-style in what was called a wagon train, and each wagon train had a wagon master who led the group to a specific destination. It was not uncommon for them to experience breakdowns such as broken axels or wheels, and even with a wagon master they sometimes made bad choices as to the best route to reach their destination. For the settlers and prospectors, once they left their homes in the east, every day was an adventure. In our case, adventure occurred almost hourly, not just daily.

For our spring fishing trip, "wagon master" Jim Hess arranged for our accommodations at Central Hills Baptist Retreat near Kosciusko, Mississippi, where we planned to fish for two days. Since our respective homes are in most every direction relative to Kosciusko, we didn’t have the opportunity to form a modern wagon train. However, Lee Gordon invited me to ride with him from West Point in a gesture aimed more toward companionship than fuel savings.

"Yeah, if you want to drop off your car at my house, we can go in my truck to Central Hills," Lee shared in a phone conversation a few days before our departure. "I’m taking my two-man boat. That way, we’ll both have somebody to talk to." Continue reading>>

Bowdoin Bunch

For those on a budget, Bowdoin College of Brunswick, Maine is no bargain. With tuition at $36, 370/yr., and room and board another $9,890/yr., a mom and dad might easily spend $200,000 for a son or daughter’s education. Still, it should be noted that Bowdoin is routinely rated among the top ten Liberal Arts colleges in the United States, which should offer some reassurance to parents that theirs is money well spent.

According to Wikipedia, an editable online encyclopedia, Bowdoin College can lay claim to several noteworthy graduates that include U.S. President Franklin Pierce, two laudable literary authors, Hawthorne and Longfellow, and Supreme Court Chief Justice, Thomas Brackett Reed. Though less famous, Hodding Carter II, founder of the Delta Democrat-Times in Greenville, Mississippi, is also a graduate.
For three consecutive years, a dozen students per year from Bowdoin College have participated in Habitat for Humanity’s Collegiate Challenge, answering the call to serve their fellowman by volunteering to help build housing for Pontotoc County Habitat for Humanity. While none of these students have achieved national fame or recognition, I can envision it happening. Though their respective volunteer efforts may not be regarded as noteworthy on the national scale, surely their achievements are remembered here in Pontotoc, and it’s reasonable to assume the seeds of service sown here will one day bear fruit.

Group photographs of the Bowdoin volunteers adorn the walls of the local affiliate for Habitat for Humanity, International. Additionally, digital images of these volunteers working at various jobsites and of their enjoyment of evening meals provided by civic groups, churches, and ndividuals during their stay in Pontotoc roll across the monitor of the affiliate’s computer when in screen-saver mode. Selected photographs of each Bowdoin group can be viewed on the website of Ridge Rider News. Habitat homeowners, grateful for the work on their homes, have visual images of the volunteers that will be remembered long after the student volunteers have returned to campus.

My role with Pontotoc County Habitat for Humanity is a small one. I’m "Mr. Barbara Carter," husband of the Executive Director as well as the unofficial photographer at the functions I am privileged to attend. So, in a sense, I, too, am a volunteer. Continue reading>>

Ring Back

In returning my college ring to the manufacturer, I had doubts the original warranty would be honored for I previously had the ring resized by a jeweler. However, I proceeded with Plan A and asked Barbara to fill in the blanks of the form where legible writing was needed, and I found a mailer in the computer room to use for express mailing.

I printed a copy of the addresses, one for a Post Office Box and the other one the physical address needed by Fed-X, UPS, or other national couriers. I had bolded the text for the physical address, thinking surely my wife would interpret the bold print as my preferred mailing method. That, and the fact I asked her to insure the package and retain the tracking information left me feeling fairly confident all would be well. Of course, my mistake was in providing a choice.

I left on a business trip and phoned her that evening to check in and asked about the package.

"I took it to the Museum Post Office," she shared. "And, I sent it U.S. Mail."

My heart sank.

"You sent it by U.S. Mail," I seethed in silence, "to be handled by folks that sometimes ‘go postal,’ who lose envelopes on a regular basis, misdirect mail, deliver to the wrong address, etc. You sent it by U.S. Mail?"

And, I kept the tracking information," she assured.

Returning home a few days later, Barbara handed me the postal receipt. I didn’t understand how the Post Office could track my package, but I surely couldn’t by using their online service.

I shared my dilemma with my wife who quietly pointed out, "Mae said the Post Office could verify it reached the proper destination. That’s all I know."

I comforted myself with thoughts that the insurance was sufficient to cover the cost of the ring if mine should be lost. But, in hindsight and with the current price of gold on the world market, I doubt four hundred dollars would cover half the cost of a new ring. Continue reading>>

Class Rings - Education Imagery

As far back as I can remember
I’ve esteemed class rings, whether they were high school rings or college
rings. Perhaps, it was the influence of my uncles, Earl Carter and Lamar
Carter, who each held college degrees at a time when symbols of educational achievement in the Carter family were rare, that birthed my admiration for class rings.
Neither of my Carter grandparents finished high school. Hayden Carter’s father died when Hayden was perhaps seven or eight, so he was needed to help with the family’s livelihood, farming. Hayden’s formal education probably ended before the fifth grade. My grandmother’s father died at age fifty. Becky may have completed the seventh or eighth grade before she also had to drop out of school to help work the family farm.
My dad didn’t graduate high school, though he doubtless would have had he not, in his senior year, had a falling out with a teacher, who wouldn’t accept a paper he’d written as his work. My grandfather thought he could convince Dad to return to school by working him extra hard on the family farm. Dad admitted the next several weeks were the hardest of his life, but his determination to spite the teacher prevailed. If Dad ever regretted his decision to drop out of school, he never shared it with me.
Mom had dropped out of school even earlier than Dad and didn’t finish the eighth grade. Instead at sixteen, she and Dad married. The following year, my older brother was born and over the next twenty years three more children arrived, with each of us finding slightly better living conditions than our sibling predecessor. None of us experienced anything like a childhood
lived in affluence, but we were loved and cared for and given the best our parents could afford.
In my youth, there were more opportunities for me to be around my Uncle Earl than Dad’s younger brother, Lamar. Uncle Earl had settled in Senatobia, MS, but Uncle Lamar found work in Venezuela more to his liking. Since leaving Venezuela, Uncle Lamar has made New York City his home, where consulting has provided him opportunities to "see the world." So, when it came to seeing class rings in my family, I saw Uncle Earl’s more than Uncle Lamar’s.
Having so few family members with class rings made the arrival of my high school ring a memorable occasion. How I talked my Dad out of the thirty-five dollars that was needed to purchase the ring, I no longer remember, but in 1959, thirty-five dollars was a lot of money. Continue reading>>

Gaither Concert - Leaving There

This is the concluding article of the three
events (getting there, being there, and leaving there) associated with the Gaither Concert in Tupelo, on February 9, 2008.

At ten-fifteen p.m. my thoughts of the three of us going out to dinner at a nice restaurant in Tupelo had long vanished, and my thoughts were more occupied with finding a restaurant open at ten-thirty. We had a late afternoon sweet snack before going to the Gaither concert, and we planned to eat following the concert. But first, Barbara and I had to get Miss Virginia down the steep steps of the mezzanine seating, down two flights of stairs, and select a pick up point as close to the arena as possible.

Church busses were lined up alongside the building for quite a distance in spots that would be perfect for me to utilize if only I could get my car through the maze of vehicles whose movements to exit the parking lots reminded me of fire ants spilling out of their mound in search of whatever or whomever might have disturbed it. Vehicles were moving in most every direction away from the arena.

Walking to my car, I wondered how I’d ever get back to where I needed to pick up Barbara and Miss Virginia. It actually took less time than I had imagined as most everyone was jockeying for an exit line, and I was among the few trying to get closer to the arena. I made a few aggressive maneuvers, slipping across empty parking spaces and through gaps of vehicles in exit lanes and was soon near where I’d left Barbara and Miss Virginia. I gave up on them spotting me, so I got out of the car and was half-way to an entrance/exit when they finally saw me.

Both side streets that parallel the arena were packed with vehicles as was every parking exit feeding into one of the side streets. However, almost nobody was using a major exit that passed through the parking area of the Hilton Garden Inn and onto West Main. I figure I saved us a good ten or fifteen minutes by taking the less traveled route.

"Let’s find a restaurant," I gleefully stated once we were out of the parking lot, "I’ve got a handicap-dangler on my rearview mirror, and I’m anxious to park in a handicapped parking space."

"I-Hop is probably open," someone suggested, and given the limited choices of twenty-four hour restaurants, it was fine with me. Continue reading>>

Inn Trouble - Best-Laid Schemes...

My son-in-law has a history of thwarted good intentions. Three years ago, his idea of an anniversary gift for his wife wasn’t deemed personal enough by Rayanne. Neither the portable phone nor the alarm clock earned him any points with my daughter. At that particular point in time, Rayanne had admonished Anson they didn’t need to spend any money on each other
for their anniversary, as money was in scarce supply for their household. The flowers sent the next day, an atonement effort, proved as futile as did the less-than-personal gifts he’d given to his wife, and it took a surprise birthday party days later to get him out of the doghouse.

Anson’s parents celebrated their Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary on February 9^th in Belmont, Mississippi. Barbara and I attended the affair to congratulate them on their marital milestone.

While we were there, Anson pulled us aside to share, "Next Friday night, I’m taking Rayanne out to a nice restaurant in Alabama for our Twelfth Anniversary. What she doesn’t know is we’re spending the night in a nice motel. That’s the surprise."

How priceless was the look on his face. His pleasure in his secret plans could not be contained. Something so well thought out had to express itself, and it virtually erupted as a broad smile across his face.

As a guy, I admit to admiring his scheme and could only imagine that his every expectation for the grand evening would be realized. What could possibly go wrong? Arrangements had been made for his parents to keep the children, dinner and motel reservations were made, and there was surely a plan in place to sneak the luggage for the overnight stay unnoticed and into the family van. It was beautiful, I tell you, beautiful.

But as the Burns stated, "The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men...(are often thwarted – in today’s parlance)."

I don’t know at what point in the evening Anson shared with Rayanne his scheme, but I would imagine it would have been near the end of dinner.

And, I can picture him leaning toward her in a candlelit Kodak moment and exclaiming, "Guess what? We have the rest of the night to ourselves. The girls are spending the night at Gran-Gran’s, and we’re sleeping at the Starlight Inn, the swanky new one up the street."

And I can equally envision my daughter’s reaction. "I don’t have
my makeup or a change of clothes. You know I don’t like surprises, and I especially don’t like sleeping in a motel bed somebody else has slept in. It freaks me out."

"Don’t worry, honey," he surely must have said, "I’ve packed everything you need right down to your favorite jeans. Our bags are under the blanket in the back of the van. Anyway the motel is almost brand new; the bed may never have been slept in."

I have no official word on what transpired in the waning hours of the evening and really no official word until after nine o’clock Saturday morning. That’s when Rayanne phoned her mother to give her an update.

In that conversation Rayanne stated much of what I attributed to her above, adding, "Anson didn’t pack my hairbrush so I’m stuck here with a wet head until he gets back from Wal-Mart or wherever he finds one. And, my ‘favorite jeans’ he brought have bleach stains all over them."

The gist of it was Rayanne was not the happy camper one might have expected. When Barbara pointed out what a nice gesture it was on Anson’s part to have planned a special time for them, Rayanne stewed, "You’re taking his side, just like his mother did."

To which I would’ve asked, "What’s wrong with you, girl? For most women, Anson’s sort of thoughtfulness would have been joyously received had their husbands done the same for them!"

Alas, I can’t be too hard on my own child. I did help with her raising, and her gene pool does have a few of my ornery genes in it. So it’s not like she’s perfect, which is something Jason will be proud to know I said, but I admit to being a little perplexed by her response to the situation.

Perhaps, it’ll be as Barbara said, "You need to write this down, Rayanne, so in ten years or so, or when y’all celebrate your Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary, you can read it and laugh about it."

For me, I don’t have to wait; I can laugh about it right now.

Annie Up Close

I have never been fortunate enough to be near enough to a celebrity to rub shoulders, so to speak, and by celebrity I’m thinking of movie star, professional athlete, a governor, or the President of the United States. But then, I don’t go looking for them just for an autograph or photo opportunity. Oops…I thought of a pro athlete.
Tim McCarver of the St. Louis Cardinals was at the Sunflower Food Store #43, on East Main Street in Tupelo at the time I worked there in 1963. He was autographing 8 by 10 glossies, and I had him sign one for my then little brother, James. And, I was in within a few feet of Ernie Haase of Signature Sound fame, the other night at the Gaither Concert in Tupelo, but that’s all the famous people I can think of that I was near enough to have touched, until I ran into Annie last Thursday.Annie, for those of you who don’t have email or haven’t heard of "you tube," is something of an Internet celebrity. She arrived in my inbox a couple of years ago as an attachment to a forwarded message. Okay, she didn’t arrive in my inbox, but she was the subject of the humorous video clip in which she was featured. The video clip was named "Why I Quit Court Reporting." It is approximately two minutes in length, but it’s very apparent that the title fits the situation. Annie, who lives in Ruleville, Mississippi, is sworn in for a legal deposition, the nature of which is not revealed, but she is asked to verify whether the signature on a certain piece of paper is hers.
Annie may have a speech impediment or else she may be a special-needs individual, and if either is true, I apologize for any humor I find in viewing the clip and would have her know I’m not laughing at her but rather laughing at the predicament of the court reporter. Annie, when asked to raise her right hand, raised her left hand, and when asked a second time to raise her right hand, she raised it and kept both arms held high over her head. When asked if she promised to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, it was evident she agreed to do so, but her answer which I would perceive to be along the line of "Yeah, I promise to tell the whole truth," is unintelligible speech, and my translation is purely guesswork based on the circumstances and the question she had been presented. Continue reading>>

Urban Lepers

You see them standing outside, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two others, and sometimes their numbers are larger. They are defiant but orderly. Society has deemed them unfit and a danger to its greater good. We find their habit repugnant and unclean, but they refuse to change their lifestyle to meet our demands. Cold weather, hot weather, mild weather, rain or shine, outside is the only public environment where their behavior is acceptable. Pity these—they are smokers.

Tobacco use, particularly cigarette smoking, was once considered chic and fashionable. Smoking helped settle ones nerves, so the military encouraged its use among servicemen during wartime. Hollywood icons smoked, as did all of filmdom. Businessmen smoked, and while smoking among the fairer sex was once risqué, it grew to become acceptable as the popularity of cigarette smoking grew. Juvenile delinquents smoked, but so did juveniles who were not delinquents.

Smoking was considered manly, and advertisements for cigarettes often portrayed men doing things such as riding horseback in Wyoming or Montana then pausing to light up a popular brand of cigarettes. Smoking was a form of sociableness whether found at a nightclub or a country club or the Elks club. Smokers smoked with little regard for persons who did not smoke and often were careless where the ashes fell or where burning stubs were crushed.

Until medical research pointed to tobacco as a possible cause for cancer, most smokers did not realize the risks associated with smoking. Even after written warnings by the Surgeon General of the United States were mandated on each pack, most ignored the message until the evidence overwhelmingly supported the earlier research. And today, the evidence still goes unheeded by some, in spite of more research linking heart disease to smoking.

Sociologists are better at explaining the differences between generations than I am, but I believe the political push to ban smoking from all public places, even in small towns such as Pontotoc, is directly related to a characteristic of the generation of Baby Boomers. I’ve heard enough speeches on trends and generational differences over the years to remember one of the defining aspects of a Boomer is the "it’s-all-about-me syndrome." And, it’s a characteristic I see again and again in those born between 1946 and 1964. These are the generation born from the time GIs returned home after World War II until shortly after the Kennedy assignation. Today, Baby Boomers are the ones in leadership positions in churches, schools, and in local governments. Continue reading>>

Mayor Stafford

Helped Jump Start Pontotoc

The death of Howard Stafford caught me by surprise. After all, had not Barbara and I talked to him roughly two months ago as we were leaving Sunshine Health Care in Pontotoc? Stopping to chat came natural to Howard Stafford. He was never one to talk ones ear off, but he did show enough concern and interest to make one feel appreciated.

It had been some time since I had seen our former Mayor, but he looked well, clad in what one might describe as a western look, though in his case his rugged features and wide brimmed hat reminded me more of an Indiana Jones figure.

"I came to check on my sister and a brother-in-law," he responded when we asked the nature of his visit.

Ours was not a lengthy conversation and was more of an exchange of greetings that happened to consist of expressions of concern for our respective families.

Howard Stafford was a member of America’s Greatest Generation which consists, in part, of individuals who survived the hardships of the Great Depression only to be confronted with stopping fascism in Europe and imperialism in the Far East. Howard served his country in the Army, spending four years in the South Pacific. When he returned to the States, Howard maintained a Standard Oil dealership for several years before turning his attention to
politics.

Howard Stafford was elected Mayor of Pontotoc in 1965 and served as Mayor for 28 consecutive years. Pontotoc and Pontotoc County owe its years of "industrial revolution," largely to the efforts of Howard Stafford.

Howard’s management style distinguished him from all who had previously held the mayor’s office, and his uniqueness has not been duplicated since. Mayor Stafford was not one to take no for an answer. Persons who knew him far better than I have called his methods unorthodox.

At his funeral, on January 26, 2008, Judge Charles Thomas noted Howard’s heroes were Geronimo and Gen. Douglas MacArthur and drew upon similarities of each. Like Geronimo, Mayor Stafford was fearless and like Gen. MacArthur, defeat was not something he could or would accept. Continue reading >>

Dennis' Dislike

Ruffling Feathers

Other than an occasional vegetarian, I don’t run across too many people who don’t eat poultry, chicken in particular. And, if the next Great War fought on this earth is anything like the apocalypse many feel it will be, then I’m going on record to
say vegetarians are going to experience a change of heart and a change of diet.

Meanwhile, I’ll try to be more tolerant of those whose dietary preferences clash with mine. That’s something that would have made a good New
Year’s resolution for me, had I thought of it sooner.

Since this article is a continuation of comments last week on how I consider friendships formed in the workplace an unheralded corporate fringe benefit,
perhaps, it’s time to resume the adventure of my travel to Kenosha, Wisconsin a few days ago.

When Wayne Hunter and I departed Cape Girardeau, Missouri, Tuesday morning we knew we would be meeting Mark Frank and Dennis Conn in Champaign, Illinois, before continuing the drive to Kenosha. Mark is a relative newcomer to the team of retail technology consultants in our region, but Dennis Conn came over on the Mayflower (joke).

I first met Dennis when we both had managerial positions in our respective wholesale divisions. Dennis managed the Retail Technology Department for J.M. Jones in Champaign, and I was his counterpart for Lewis Grocer Co., Indianola, Mississippi. In 1990, our companies were already a part of SUPERVALU, spelled Super Valu in those days, but our retail customers knew us better by our division names, J.M. Jones and Lewis Grocer.

Somewhere on the Kenosha trail, Dennis shared with us, "I don’t eat chicken."

It was a nugget of knowledge I had allowed to slip my mind, but as soon as he mentioned it, I remembered hearing him make a similar comment last year at one of our regional meetings.

Dennis forgave my forgetfulness and commented, "But, you’d think my parents could remember I don’t eat poultry! Yet, every Thanksgiving, Mom tries to push some turkey on me. Sometimes, she puts chicken or turkey in something thinking she can fool me into eating it."

<Continue reading>

Fringe Benefits

Were the income derived from my employment the sole benefit found in my working for SUPERVALU, I’d be grateful, but that’s only a small part of the big picture. Few, who work for others ever feel their income matches their worth or contribution to the success of his or her employer and perhaps their claim is valid, but I decided long ago to be content with my earnings and to strive to live within my means.

That’s not to say I’d turn down an annual raise with, “No thanks, I’m already making enough to meet my needs,” or another foolish comment, but there’s more to a job than income alone.

These days, benefits are a huge consideration, especially health benefits. Health benefits have become so huge that employers struggle in striking the proper balance of coverage for all employees, and in the face of ever-rising costs often pass some of their costs along to employees.

Medical insurance, prescription drug coverage, dental, and vision plans, along with flexible spending accounts, savings, and retirement plans are other offers corporations use to attract and keep employees. I’m lucky enough to qualify for a company car and all the benefits associated with it. According to SUPERVALU, their share of my total benefits is fifty-five percent of my annual salary, with thirteen percent of this for health care and none of these calculations include the company car. But, there’s more to work than wages and corporate benefits.

In any organization, people make the difference, and in my working for SUPERVALU over the last half-century, or there about, people have certainly made a difference in my life. Some of the finest people I know, I’ve been privileged to work with in an office setting, or as a field associate, and I must include a few of my bosses along the way. Certainly, I would be remiss in not including those customers I’m also privileged to know and serve. I’ve been blessed with friendships and employee relationships in the workforce. <Continue Reading>

Having An EGD

For a number of years, possibly fifteen, I’ve experienced difficulty in swallowing certain foods. Meats, when not sufficiently chewed, such as chicken and beef were among the foods most difficult to ingest beyond the esophagus. However, I have also experienced swallowing problems with cornbread and spicy foods.

Rather than see a doctor about the condition I generally describe as “my swallowing problem,” I chose to explore ways to reduce the occurrences of the problem. I discovered that whenever food felt lodged in my esophagus I was in no danger of choking for my air passage was not blocked. I found that by consuming a carbonated beverage at mealtime, there would be enough gas pressure in my stomach so that a self-induced burp could coax the blockage loose. I learned to chew food more thoroughly and to not hurry my eating. This past year, I also learned to talk less while eating and to concentrate more on chewing and swallowing.

My swallowing problem was not life-threatening, and I considered it a minor inconvenience to the enjoyment of eating. It was something to respect rather than fear. I might not have done anything about it in the way of seeing a doctor, except that in thinking some recent chest pain might be related to my heart, I described my esophageal experiences to my cardiologist. He convinced me I needed to have my esophagus checked by his use of a single word, cancer.

As I recall he stated, “What you have is not normal…if unchecked and untreated, it could turn into cancer.”

I laugh off my chances of contracting certain diseases and disorders, but cancer gets my attention. There have been too many folks in my family diagnosed and treated for cancer (some died with the disease) for me not to take cancer seriously. And, having personally survived prostate cancer, I’d just as soon not take on another cancer challenge.

My cardiologist made an appointment for me to see a gastroenterologist in early December. I was told a test would be needed in order to render a diagnosis and/or treat my swallowing problem. I had hoped to get the test completed prior to 2008, but I was told by a “scheduler” (not only are physicians specialists, now office personnel are specialists, too) that was not possible and since the new appointment calendar had not arrived, I would have to wait a few days before setting a date for the test. <Continue reading>

Rediscovery Orange

It had been so long since I had eaten a freshly peeled orange that I had forgotten how good one can be. And, I probably wouldn’t have eating one recently had it not been for the head cold that came my way the week before Christmas. There was a time when a common cold lasted seven days if untreated, and if one went to a doctor it would take a week to get over the cold. I believe my recent head cold lasted twelve days, and I let it run its course except for a couple days in which I took a few Benadryl.

As good as Christmas Dinner was and as many sweets as we had to go with meals or simply to snack on, I really didn’t overeat. Perhaps, my sense of smell was reduced, but the foods I would normally have greatly enjoyed, just didn’t make the grade. Instead of enjoying meals, I came to rely upon snacks to satisfy my hunger cravings. The best snacks I could find were salted nuts and party mix, and an occasional glass of eggnog.

Preparing for Christmas, Barbara bought a sack of juice oranges for use in a fruit salad and for a decorative touch, piercing some and inserting cloves band-like around the oranges. I think Barbara was inspired by a Martha Stewart TV program to reproduce something she had seen her mother do. I think both the oranges and the cloves suffer from such an arrangement, though remaining edible for anyone who can tolerate the mixed flavors of orange-scented cloves or clove-scented oranges. Personally, I try to limit my consumption of foods flavored with cloves to pickled peaches, which is the only food I still enjoy that is laced with cloves. Continue reading>>

Cheryl And Jerry Wed

Somewhere in the ancestral gene pool of my dear wife, there must have been an overabundance of “designer” genes. And, while Barbara Anne has a fair touch when it comes to home decorating, her daughter (Rayanne) and her niece (Cheryl) got double portions. Obviously, whatever talent my daughter has for decorating is something that did not come from me. Once I get all the home furnishings set in place, I’m good for life or the life of the furnishings.

If there were but three objects in my living room, Rayanne would long ago have run out of possible ways to arrange or order them, as there are only six different ways to arrange three items. Four items would present a greater challenge and allow for twenty-four possible arrangements, but with eight items (five pieces of stuffed furniture and three tables) the task would require 40, 320 possibilities. I’m pretty sure Rayanne’s past the twenty-four mark, but is no where near the 40k amount. Note: The eight items mentioned do not include an almost immovable armoire or the piano or the many lamps and set-abouts.

Cheryl has a good eye for room décor and arrangement, but she doesn’t come to see us as often as Rayanne, nor is she inclined to redecorate our place unless asked. But, rest assured, Cheryl will add her creative touch to any house she calls home.

After graduating from high school in Ripley, Cheryl married and moved to Memphis and found work at the J. Strickland Company, where she’s worked for more than thirty years. After her marriage faltered, she and her husband divorced. After a few years, Cheryl found an ex-athlete from Ole Miss. The two were happily married for several years, before developing a marital problem. They parted ways via a legal separation and were eventually divorced.

In her second single-again period, Cheryl found herself supported by a group of close friends and a few relatives, and she thrived. She bought a new house in Southaven, joined a Baptist Church nearby, and led a fairly active social life. She wasn’t exactly looking for a third husband, but she found one among the overlooked four-leafed clovers in her life.

Cheryl originally knew Jerry and Terri Gowen as friends of her and her husband. Jerry and Terri parted company a few years ago, and at the time, neither Cheryl nor Jerry ever thought they’d fall in love with each other. Perhaps, they might not have had Jerry’s daughter, Ashley, not recognized the opportunity to match-make her dad and Cheryl. As I understand it, Ashley gave Cheryl and Jerry each other’s email address and suggested mutual contact. The result was Cheryl and Jerry met for lunch, renewed their friendship, began dating, and in a relatively short time discovered they were in love. <continue reading>