Carter Christmas Newsletter 2018

My Maggie

In 2010, my wife and I were with our Senior Adult church-friends in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, we were killing time taking in the sights near the “Old Mill” restaurant as we had to wait almost one hour before being seated.  Barbara and some of her women friends were in line, but Mickey Gentry and I found ourselves listening to a three-piece band play and sing old-time Country Music.

I asked them if they took requests, and upon learning that they did, I asked them if they knew, “Precious Jewel.”  Sure enough, they did, and they played it rather well.  Another old tune came to mind, and I asked about “Maggie.” The lead singer thought he had it in his book of lyrics, but the other two weren’t sure they knew the song that began, “I wandered today to the hill, Maggie.” However, once the singer started strumming his guitar, the other two picked up the music right on key.

For those of us who’ve been married forever, and especially those over the age of sixty, there’s a good possibility you’ve sung or heard this song. Some of the lyrics as I recall them are:

I wandered today to the hill, Maggie

To watch the scene below
The creek and the rusty old mill, Maggie
As we used to, long, long ago.
The green grove is gone from the hill, Maggie,
Where first the daisies sprung;
The rusty old mill is still, Maggie,
Since you and I were young.
        ------- ~ -------
They say that I'm feeble with age, Maggie,
My steps are less sprightly than then,
My face is a well-written page, Maggie,
And time alone was the pen.
They say we are aged and grey, Maggie,
As spray by the white breakers flung,
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie,
When you and I were young.

In this song, I particularly like the nostalgia of the words and the gently flowing sounds when it’s played.  The songwriter sort of draws me into his world in the first couple of lines.  I can closely identify with his return to a once familiar area only to see all that has changed over the years.  I have a place in mind right here in the City of Pontotoc.

Before there was a Pontotoc Lake and Recreation Area (now, Howard Stafford Park), I had found a tranquil place on a hilltop overlooking a stream below.  The undeveloped land held a stand of pines whose random placement led me to believe man played no part in their being there.  An abandoned railroad bed was only yards away.  It was a good place to sit in partial sunlight on a cool, late fall day and contemplate one’s place in the created order.

When I first experienced the solitude of this place, I had not met the woman who would later become my wife, but in the song I am able to picture her as my Maggie.  The first time she saw the place I viewed as special was when the park was being dedicated and the “stream below” had become part of the lake.

The songwriter concludes that people change, also, with the passage of time. Barbara, and I aren’t as feeble or as aged as the songwriter describes, but we’re getting there.  And, somehow, in a way I can’t explain, she is as fair to me today as she was when we were young; she’s as beautiful, no, more beautiful than the day I met her. Yeah, my eyesight’s not what it used to be, but my imagination is better. 

And, I can say with all honesty, “But to me, you’re as fair as you were, Barbara, when you and I were young.”

On Becoming A Teacher

2018 Recreation of Toy Caterpillar

I haven’t always been a teacher, though I have been for most of my life. I can date my entrance into the ranks of professional teachers to 1965, but I became a teacher much earlier. I suppose I became a teacher the day I learned how to make a caterpillar toy from an empty wooden spool that once had sewing thread wound around it. Until then I was a learner, but having learned, I wanted to share my knowledge with others. Who knew, a simple homemade toy would jumpstart my desire to teach others?

I didn’t hold classes in toy making as a child, but whenever I learned how to make a kite, a sling, a slingshot, a willow whistle, or whatever else amused me, I wanted to show others how to do the same.

I have a lot of friends who don’t know I was once a real teacher.  Even those who know I was once a math teacher perhaps do not know that teaching was a part of God’s plan for my life. I must admit, I did not know I was “predestined” to become a teacher, either, but clearly I was.

Something about science has always intrigued me. Maybe my 8^th grade science teacher, Coach Carl Lowry (yes some coaches teach subjects other than history) played a role in my developing scientific interest. I surely learned a lot of general science in his class. By the end of high school, I had taken all the science and math courses offered at Pontotoc High School.

I left high school with a burning desire to become a chemist. That was before I ran into a stone wall as a college junior, something called Advanced Organic Chemistry.  Organic Chemistry was bad enough, but Advanced Organic did me in. I took a WF (withdrawn failing) just to get of that class, one I had no hope of ever passing. Well, maybe had funds been unlimited I could have passed after a half-dozen or so attempts, but I was in college to get a job to make money after graduation, so I changed college majors from Chemistry to Math, something I could pass and one day get a degree. The result of changing my major was that I graduated roughly a semester later than I planned, and it was in August when I received my diploma. 

Math degrees sometimes command jobs with high salaries, but that’s usually reserved for persons who graduated with high grade-point averages in Math. My math grades were at best mediocre. I know that revelation will disappoint my grandkids, who think I’m the smartest man alive. Sorry.

I mention graduation to note that at the end of September I was still looking for a job. My dad was co-owner and head butcher at the grocery store he ran.  Among the many salesmen who stopped by for orders each week was a representative from Krey Meat Packing Co. who happened to be on the board of trustees at South Tippah High School, Ripley, MS.  I believe the salesman's name last name was Storey, I regret I can’t recall the rest.  I suppose he knew my dad’s family well enough and had probably heard I was majoring in math at Ole Miss. The story, as my dad related it to me, was something like this:

Salesman: Didn’t your son graduate with a math degree?

Dad: “Yes, a little over a month ago, but he doesn’t have a job.”

Salesman: “We need a math teacher really bad in Ripley, and there seems to be a shortage of math teachers, statewide. Send him up there to talk to E. O. Rutherford.”

Dad: “Okay, but he didn’t major in Education, he has a Science degree.”

Salesman: “I don’t think that’s a problem.  Please ask him to talk to the principal.”

I wasn’t too keen on interviewing for a teaching position in October of 1965, as I had taken no college subjects specifically needed by teachers. Nonetheless, I heeded my dad’s advice and acted on the suggestion by the board member and made my way to the Principal’s office that Friday.

I’m sure the board member had notified the Principal that a math teacher had been found in Pontotoc, as Mr. Rutherford was overjoyed when I arrived.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” he exclaimed when I told him who I was. “We’ve gone six weeks without a math teacher for our 8^th and 9^th grade students.  It’s hard to find enough substitutes to have classes. Can you start next Monday?”

“Mr. Rutherford, I’ve not had any classes to prepare me to teach.”

“Son, don’t worry about that.  You have a degree in mathematics. The State of Mississippi will grant you a certificate for one year. It can be renewed each year until you complete all the required educational courses for a teacher’s license.”

I “worked off” the education requirements by attending college courses over the next three or four summers, first at Blue Mountain College and then at Ole Miss.

You might find it interesting that after my third day of teaching, Mr. Rutherford brought a young lady to my room, Laura Grisham, a student at Blue Mountain College, and introduced us. She was to be a “practice teacher.”  She was there to observe my students and me for a fixed number of weeks and then to teach my students while I did the observing.  It wasn’t exactly a case of the blind leading the blind, but it was close. Luckily for Laura, she was able to observe and learn from Mr. Herman Clemmer, who taught the higher grades and had more than thirty years of teaching experience.

There’s a reason I stated in the beginning paragraphs of this story that I was predestined to become a teacher. I say this, not so much that teaching provided me with a living wage and my first job after my college years, but to note that as a teacher in the city of Ripley, MS, I was in the right place at the right time for me to meet the young woman whom God had selected to become my wife, Barbara Anne Crouch.

My career as a teacher was relatively short. I taught in Ripley for five years, one year at Algoma High School, Algoma, MS (the last year before Pontotoc County schools consolidated to form North Pontotoc and South Pontotoc attendance centers), and I wrapped up my career as a math teacher with a year at Pontotoc High School.

My professional teaching career ended in 1972, but opportunities to teach others continue to this day. In 1972 and 1973 I sold office machines and usually had to train business persons on the features and functions of electronic calculators, copiers, and electronic typewriters.

Starting in August of 1973 I re-entered the grocery world I had grown up in, and I became a butcher for a local supermarket and would soon become the manager of the Meat Department. Trust me, managers get to do a lot of teaching.

Nine years later, I was promoted to meat supervisor for a group of retail supermarkets supplied by SUPERVALU, Indianola, Mississippi.

By 1989, personal computers were becoming affordable for small businesses and individuals, and a position in Retail Technology opened at SUPERVALU.  I applied and was hired as manager of the Retail Technology department and had two individuals who reported to me. I was given a mandate to “learn the ropes” within six months; somehow I learned enough to continue in the department until my retirement in 2010, twenty-one years later.

My job with SUPERVALU was a mixture of sales and teaching.  Retailers were anxious to purchase technology in order to improve pricing and labeling accuracy, and along with those purchases store personnel had to learn how to use the new technology, which went hand in hand with my background as a teacher.

As you can see, my teaching career has been long and varied, and I’ve not mentioned my years of teaching children, young people, and adults at First Baptist Church in Pontotoc, or my current job of teaching my grandchildren the important things in life such as, don’t mess with spiders and snakes, fire is hot, ice is cold, playing in the street is dangerous, etc. I considered starting a class, “Why Grandpa Is NOT The Smartest Man In The World,” but they’ll eventually figure it out on their own.

“Teaching is the mental equivalent of riding a bicycle, in that having done so, one never forgets how.” ~ Book of Wayne

This Is My Story ~ When Jesus Came Into My Heart

Many years ago, a Baptist preacher and the father of a small boy were speculating what the future might hold for the youngster. The preacher suggested the lad might well have a future as a pastor, for he had noticed how attentive the boy was during church services and seemed to hang onto every word from the pulpit. The father of the boy was a grocery store manager and stated his desire to see the boy follow in his footsteps. Theirs was but a conservation, not an argument, as each had the child’s best interests at heart.

I know this to be true for the father in this story was my dad, Henry Carter and the pastor was reverend Troy Mohan, pastor of the First Baptist Church of Okolona. I may have heard them talking, but I’m not certain I did, and it could be simply the story passed down in my family.

It was during the Okolona years of my childhood, at around nine or ten years of age, that I first experienced the promptings of the Holy Spirt in my heart. In the next few years, I came to understand that God was convicting me of my sin and encouraging me to follow him.

My earliest memories of attending FBC, Pontotoc are of the morning Bible study classes, then called Sunday School and evening classes designed to equip children for the Christian walk. The latter program of study was termed, Training Union.

It was during my second summer of Vacation Bible School at FBC, Pontotoc that I was “invited” to the pastor’s study, a small corner room above the church’s baptistery. I already “had Jesus in my heart” at the time of my conversation with our pastor. I remember we talked of salvation and I was encouraged to make my Christian experience and decision public.

I’m not positive that it was the next Sunday or not, but I think it was the conclusion of a week of revival that I made my decision before the church.  It was “invitation time,” the time when the preacher asks persons who have made a decision to follow Christ to come forward. 

Blanche George was serving as Department Director of the Sunday School age group I was attending. She was standing in the row behind me, as we were singing.  She touched me on my left shoulder and asked me if I was ready.  Perhaps, our pastor had mentioned to her that he had spoken privately to me and others in Bible School. I nodded “Yes,” and stepped from the fourth row, front center, and walked the aisle to be greeted by our Pastor, Brother Tom Douglas. 

Several young people made professions of faith or recommitments that morning.  We were baptized the following Sunday night.

As a new Christian, I had great role models in my teachers and leaders at First Baptist.  Whether in the classroom or in their backyard for a class get together, I always felt loved by them.

Years later, I would have opportunities to work with children in both RAs and choir and to teach children in “Training Union” and to later teach young adults in Bible Study.  That I survived as a teacher/ leader is a testament to the Christ-like examples of those who taught me.

I wish I could say that in my walk with Jesus he has guided me every step of the way, but I have often veered from the pathway he chose for me. Still, as I recount my journey I can see how each time I drifted off course, he worked patiently with me to accomplish his will for my life. One of the truest statements I’ve ever heard is, “life must be lived forward but can only be understood looking backwards.”

I would like to say I’ve never doubted my salvation experience, but the truth is that there were multiple occasions when doubt plagued me. Each time I had doubts, either I searched the Bible for assurance or the Holy Spirit flooded my mind with scripture I had previously learned.

Finally, after reading John 20:30-31, “And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book: But these are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name,” those words soothed my soul with affirmation of my salvation.

I’m afraid I did not live up to the hopes of either my dad or of the pastor mentioned at the beginning of my story. I did not feel led to become a full-time minister or pastor; neither did I choose to become the manager or owner of a grocery story. I honestly think I could have done either one, especially with the Lord’s help.  However, I did grow in wisdom and stature and in favor of God and man, becoming a leader in the church that I have now been a member of for more than sixty years, and Dad made sure I learned the trade of meat cutting, which served me well and gave me a foothold in the grocery world, first in retail and later at wholesale.

In a sense, both my dad and his pastor were correct. I grew up to serve the Lord, and after my children were born, I settled on a career involving the grocery business. I have to think both men have by now greeted one another in Heaven and each has said to the other, “I told you so.”

wlc "Just and old sinner, saved by grace"

The Best Thing I Ever Ate ~ Fried Chicken

Did you ever eat a Reese’s peanut butter cup and wonder, “How can I make this better?” Probably not, as perfection is good enough for most of us. After eating fried chicken, I have often wondered why anybody would want it cooked any other way.  Honestly, I think I could eat fried chicken once a week for the rest of my days, and not miss it baked, barbequed, boiled, spun on a rotisserie, as chicken salad, in a casserole, or however else people prepare it.

In the early years of my marriage I tried to convince my wife that fried was the only way to eat chicken. I won't admit to having lost that battle, but I'll allow that I learned to eat it many other ways. Yet, there's an old saying which remains true, "A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion, still."

In my lifetime, two of my family members could cook the best fried chicken I ever ate. The two were my mother, Frances, and my dad's sister, Nettie Mae.

Both Mama and Aunt Nettie Mae bought whole fryers and cut them into pieces at home, unless, as in Mom's case, there was a butcher in the family who sometimes cut it up at the store.

Mama pulled the skin off the pieces of chicken before frying them, whereas Aunt Nettie Mae left the skin on the meat. Each had cooked with lard in their earlier years, but by the time I came alone they were using a vegetable shortening, most often the Crisco brand, and they pan-fried the chicken in either a cast iron skillet or a heavy aluminum pan. 

Before frying, Mama dipped the chicken pieces in a mixture of egg and milk and then dredged the pieces in flour. Aunt Nettie Mae simply dredged her chicken parts in flour. At some point in the process the chicken was seasoned with salt and/or pepper, but I don't remember when.

There was never enough "lard" in the skillet to deep-fry the chicken, as people often do today whether prepared at home or in restaurants, and I don't remember there being even a half-inch of melted shortening in the pan to start the frying process. Mama's chicken was always delicious with its soft flakey crust. Aunt Nettie Mae's chicken was equally delicious, though the exterior of the chicken pieces was crispy and crunchy.

Cousin Becky remembers Aunt Nettie Mae would cover the skillet once all the pieces of chicken where in place, leaving the lid on during the cooking process and turning the chicken pieces only one.

When I first began teaching high school math, in Ripley, Mississippi, I boarded with Aunt Nettie Mae through the week and returned home to Pontotoc on the weekends, commuting sort of like my college years.  At that time two of my cousins were still at home with my aunt and uncle. On nights that fried chicken was served (about once a week), Cousin Becky and I would often "spar" over the crispy crumbles left of the serving platter.

Fried chicken, whether at home or at my aunt’s was always served with homemade biscuits. Mom’s biscuits were rolled out and cut with a biscuit cutter made from an empty Vienna sausage can. They were light and flakey and if left unattended would almost float off your plate. Aunt Nettie Mae’s homemade biscuits were choked-off and hand worked into the perfect size. Though her biscuits were much heavier than Mom’s, they were absolutely wonderful.

It’s not often in the world of “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” there’s a tie, but with regard to fried chicken and biscuits, both Mama and Aunt Nettie Mae’s fried chicken and biscuits remain “The Best Thing I Ever Ate.”