If you are anything like me, you will be happy when Halloween has come and gone.
Right now, my home is something akin to being the home of The Munsters or the Addams Family. Needless to say, my wife likes to decorate for the holidays – any holiday.
But, Halloween and Christmas have to be without a doubt her favorite two holidays. In fact, I am positive that somewhere within my home there is at least one Christmas decoration still on display from – not last Christmas – Christmas of several years ago. I know I have seen a Nativity scene that Hilda Findlater gave her many years ago sitting around. I think it is somewhere in our living room, but not very observable at this time because of the Halloween decorations.
On the top shelf of our bookcase are five – yes, five – ceramic haunted houses that light up, blink and make noises. There is also a wooden haunted house figure as well. My wife put down a bed of cotton-looking stuff to set them on. It makes them appear to be sitting on clouds to me, but she insists it is fog. There are some leave-less trees between the haunted houses and some creature figures – wolf men, zombies, vampires, mummies, etc.
On the next shelf down, there is a hodge-podge of decorations including another haunted house that you have to put a candle inside, a skull, a ceramic sack that looks like a jack-o-lantern that also needs a candle inside, a candle shaped like a skull, a plush comical ghost with a trick-or-treat bag and most of the greatest monsters of all time as miniature stuffed doll-like thingies – whatever you call them. There is also a small fish tank with a Fighting Beta. It is not a part of the decorations. It is my oldest daughter’s classroom pet that has not been taken back to her class in a couple of weeks.
One shelf down from there, my wife has a pair of small buckets that are painted up for Halloween. They could be used by a small child to go out and collect candy, but they serve as decorations in my home. While Frankenstein and his bride, the Wolf Man, Dracula and the Mummy made it on the second shelf, the third shelf is home to Quasimodo, The Phantom of the Opera and The Swamp Creature.
Dropping down one more level on the bookcase, you will find five ceramic candleholders of different styles that depict a witch and her cauldron, a jar of bat wings, a bottle of ghost goo, a kid dressed as a ghost and a black cat. There is also a ghost candy dish that makes an eerie sound when you reach for the candy.
No, I’m not finished with the bookcase, yet.
On the shelf next to the bottom, which is the one after the one I just described, there is a jack-o-lantern made of papier-mâché, a candy bowl with a Halloween drawing in the bottom, a wrought iron skeleton holding a leash that has the skeleton of a dog on the other end and two wrought iron black cat candle holders.
The bottom shelf has only one decoration, a whicker basket. The basket is painted in traditional Halloween colors and decorated with the popular figures of the holiday.
That, folks, covers just the bookcase in my living room.
If you walk up to our front door, you will be greeted by Michael Meyers or a poster of the main character of the movie Halloween. The eyes on the poster blink red and the theme music from the movie plays. And just inside the front door, you will find a black-wire Halloween tree with orange lights at the end of each branch. I am surprised my wife has not found miniature decorations to go on that tree – at least she has not found any right now. There are other decorations, but I do not have enough space in this newspaper to give you the full detail of my wife’s decorating skills for the upcoming holiday.
Yes, my wife likes to decorate for Halloween. However, it is nothing in comparison to her favorite holiday – Christmas.
Soon I will not have to look at all these decorations. They will all be removed to make room for the Christmas decorations that will join the Nativity scene Mrs. Hilda gave us. Fortunately, there is not enough room in my home for my wife to put out all the Christmas decorations she has collected over the years. She has to make decisions on which will make it out of the box each year.
But you can bet your life, and mine, that she will use up every available space in our home – even the bathroom. I sure hope she doesn’t buy a toilet seat that plays Christmas songs.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Phenix City's been in recession since the 1950s
The economy…well, I am so tired of hearing about how this country is in a recession. It ain’t. It is in a depression – as in the comment many people are saying right now, “I’m depressed because I do not have a job.”
I am very fortunate to still have a job in this economy. But, then, Phenix City has been in a recession since the 1950s. Basically, we, here in East Alabama’s East Coast Community (yes, we are on the coast of the Chattahoochee River and it sounds better than here in Alabama’s East Bank Community.) have seen little to none when it comes to economic growth since the 1950s.
We just seem to remain the same. No matter what our political leaders (and I use that word loosely) have told us over the years. We saw Phenix Plaza die with the opening of Grant City which became K-Mart. K-Mart is still around, but lost its momentum with the opening of Wal-Mart. You can drive along the city’s 280 Bypass and, if you have a good memory, remember all the stores that are now long gone – Howard Brothers, Gaylords, Goolsby Food, Big Star, South Star, Winn Dixie, Victory Auto Parts, Dixie Dog, Del Taco, Po Folks, Western Corral, Mr. J’s Steakhouse, Food Giant, Wendy’s, Torch 280 Supper Club, Torch 280 Truck Stop, Hancock Fabrics, Frank’s Warehouse, Bill, Neil and Phil’s, Neil’s Sports Shop, Pizza Inn, Brand X Restaurant, Durango’s, China Eagle, Texaco Service Station, Shell Service Station, Town and Country Hotel and whatever the name of that do-nut shop was. All are gone and some have left behind empty buildings.
Who would have ever thought – provided you grew up in Phenix City and are more than 50 years old – that the Townhouse and Lane’s restaurants would close. And, the Biff Burger, Dairy Dream and (as I choke with emotion) Chicken Comer’s. If I thought a little more, I could come up with many other stores and restaurants that have long left our tiny hamlet.
The more I think about our economic situation, the more depressed I get.
In the 1950s, Phenix City had a population of about 25,000. The population has not increased much over that – somewhere around 30-35,000 – since those days when compared to surrounding communities. Still, even with an increase of 10,000 people, Phenix City has the tax base of a city half its size or less.
About the only growing industry in Phenix City is its school system, which has seen an increase in students of about 1,400 in the last seven years. The school system, with BRAC on the horizon, may grow at an even more rapid pace in the next few years. That means Phenix City will see more and more homes built to handle the families that will relocate to the area because of BRAC.
Our city government will have to grow to meet the demands of an increasing population. We will need more police, firefighters, public works employees, utilities employees, recreation workers, etc. Our infrastructure will need to be updated – more capability to produce water and waterlines to handle the increased production to name a couple of things.
Where will the money to handle all of this come from? The taxpayers will pay dearly because of the tax base we have created in Phenix City – a tax base created by our spending habits and attitudes. Not long ago, I remember a former city council presenting a list of projects to the citizens of Phenix City for their approval and for their consent to increase property taxes by $1 per month ($12 annually) to fund those projects. I can remember when renovating the old Central annex building was suggested and proposing to move the library was presented. One of our more brilliant citizens objected, saying, “We don’t need a new library. They have one we can use in Columbus.” The same argument was used on every other project presented to the public at that time by this individual. Yes, he was right. Columbus has everything and we can pay to use those things there. We have nothing in comparison – except a growth in the number of bedrooms we have built to handle the economic growth Columbus and other surrounding communities are seeing.
All this being said, we must come up with a program of economic development for Phenix City. I have two – both extreme – and others should be considered before allowing mine to be implemented.
My first plan: declare Phenix City an independent nation and regard the bridges to Columbus as border stops. People traveling out of Phenix City is okay, but when they return they must go through Customs and pay a steep tariff on items purchased outside of Phenix City.
My second plan: remove those bridges leading away from Phenix City. I doubt anyone will want to swim back and forth across the Chattahoochee, but you never know when it comes to Phenix City folks. In many cases, they will go out of their ways to spend money elsewhere.
I am very fortunate to still have a job in this economy. But, then, Phenix City has been in a recession since the 1950s. Basically, we, here in East Alabama’s East Coast Community (yes, we are on the coast of the Chattahoochee River and it sounds better than here in Alabama’s East Bank Community.) have seen little to none when it comes to economic growth since the 1950s.
We just seem to remain the same. No matter what our political leaders (and I use that word loosely) have told us over the years. We saw Phenix Plaza die with the opening of Grant City which became K-Mart. K-Mart is still around, but lost its momentum with the opening of Wal-Mart. You can drive along the city’s 280 Bypass and, if you have a good memory, remember all the stores that are now long gone – Howard Brothers, Gaylords, Goolsby Food, Big Star, South Star, Winn Dixie, Victory Auto Parts, Dixie Dog, Del Taco, Po Folks, Western Corral, Mr. J’s Steakhouse, Food Giant, Wendy’s, Torch 280 Supper Club, Torch 280 Truck Stop, Hancock Fabrics, Frank’s Warehouse, Bill, Neil and Phil’s, Neil’s Sports Shop, Pizza Inn, Brand X Restaurant, Durango’s, China Eagle, Texaco Service Station, Shell Service Station, Town and Country Hotel and whatever the name of that do-nut shop was. All are gone and some have left behind empty buildings.
Who would have ever thought – provided you grew up in Phenix City and are more than 50 years old – that the Townhouse and Lane’s restaurants would close. And, the Biff Burger, Dairy Dream and (as I choke with emotion) Chicken Comer’s. If I thought a little more, I could come up with many other stores and restaurants that have long left our tiny hamlet.
The more I think about our economic situation, the more depressed I get.
In the 1950s, Phenix City had a population of about 25,000. The population has not increased much over that – somewhere around 30-35,000 – since those days when compared to surrounding communities. Still, even with an increase of 10,000 people, Phenix City has the tax base of a city half its size or less.
About the only growing industry in Phenix City is its school system, which has seen an increase in students of about 1,400 in the last seven years. The school system, with BRAC on the horizon, may grow at an even more rapid pace in the next few years. That means Phenix City will see more and more homes built to handle the families that will relocate to the area because of BRAC.
Our city government will have to grow to meet the demands of an increasing population. We will need more police, firefighters, public works employees, utilities employees, recreation workers, etc. Our infrastructure will need to be updated – more capability to produce water and waterlines to handle the increased production to name a couple of things.
Where will the money to handle all of this come from? The taxpayers will pay dearly because of the tax base we have created in Phenix City – a tax base created by our spending habits and attitudes. Not long ago, I remember a former city council presenting a list of projects to the citizens of Phenix City for their approval and for their consent to increase property taxes by $1 per month ($12 annually) to fund those projects. I can remember when renovating the old Central annex building was suggested and proposing to move the library was presented. One of our more brilliant citizens objected, saying, “We don’t need a new library. They have one we can use in Columbus.” The same argument was used on every other project presented to the public at that time by this individual. Yes, he was right. Columbus has everything and we can pay to use those things there. We have nothing in comparison – except a growth in the number of bedrooms we have built to handle the economic growth Columbus and other surrounding communities are seeing.
All this being said, we must come up with a program of economic development for Phenix City. I have two – both extreme – and others should be considered before allowing mine to be implemented.
My first plan: declare Phenix City an independent nation and regard the bridges to Columbus as border stops. People traveling out of Phenix City is okay, but when they return they must go through Customs and pay a steep tariff on items purchased outside of Phenix City.
My second plan: remove those bridges leading away from Phenix City. I doubt anyone will want to swim back and forth across the Chattahoochee, but you never know when it comes to Phenix City folks. In many cases, they will go out of their ways to spend money elsewhere.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
I should have attended more class reunions
“I went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn't look the same”
Ricky Nelson, once a famous teen idol in the 1950s and the star of an early television show, sang those words in his song “Garden Party.” I understood them a little better after attending the Central High class reunion for 1973-75 last weekend at the Central Activities Center. It was a lot of fun. I want to thank all those people who worked so hard to put it together. It was the first class reunion of any kind that I had attended since I graduated.
But, I wish they had not made up those badges for us to wear.
It hit me like a ton of bricks that I no longer look like I did back in 1975. It hit me even harder that I would have worn such ugly clothing. The badge had my senior portrait – taken straight from the 1975 annual – of me in a plaid coat with a striped tie. It was ugly.
I was not the only person there that could, or should have been, embarrassed by those photos from that annual. I saw folks that no longer favored those photos. That, for most, was a good thing. We all have to grow older, mature and step aside for a new generation to take over our places as youth. I’m working on being a second generation past those days.
My hair is a lot shorter than it was back then. I still, from time to time, allow it to get a little too long, but nothing in length to compare to that 1975 style. I could grow it as long as it was back in 1975 if I wanted, but it would not be the same color without some help from a beautician. There were some folks there that were fighting the aging process by this method – and you could tell. I pointed out a spot on one fellow’s hair that he had missed. He swore he did not dye his hair – and pigs fly, too.
For the most part, the majority of people attending were content to allow the aging process to take place.
The night began with a solemn moment as classmates from the three classes who are no longer with us were honored. My class, 1975, had the most recognized – it seemed like more than 30 had left us.
Alan McDonald, the husband of a classmate and who did not graduate from Central, remarked that the 1975 class had lost more people than he had graduated with at Glenwood. He also said if my photo appeared on the screen that he was going to run out of the place. I assured him that if my photo showed up, I was going to run with him.
Thank goodness my photo was not there, but I could easily have been included with the group had I not gone through heart surgery in February. Because of that, I was among the lucky people who were able to attend the reunion this year. Hopefully, I will attend more over time.
As I mentioned last week, I am getting better at learning about Facebook. It sure came in handy at the reunion. A lot of the people who chose to attend have Facebook accounts with current photos, so I recognized more of them than I probably should have. Most people had to look at my badge – twice – to recognize me. I cannot say that no one recognized me because I see many of the people who attended on a regular basis. A lot of us are still here in this area - Phenix City, Smiths Station and Columbus. I guess we all had hopes that this area could be a better place if we planted our roots deep enough. There is always hope.
Others from our classes left and made better lives in other places. I suspect they make those places better places for their being there. It does not hurt to spread our area’s influence over a larger area. The class of 1975 has members living in places like Ariton, Ala., and Little Rock, Ark., and Los Angeles. I am glad some of them were able to come back “home” for the reunion. I am sure the members of the other two classes at the reunion can boast of the same wide-spread influence of their classes.
As anyone who knows me knows, I love to talk about sports, especially local sports. I used to enjoy talking about sports on a broader scale and I got an opportunity to talk about sports on that broader scale at the reunion with someone sitting at the table I homesteaded when no one was looking. Actually, I just sat down to eat while others were in line getting their food and remained the rest of the night because of the conversation.
I sat at a table with one of my classmates who moved away, Deborah Boddie. Her last name is no longer Boddie. It’s Birdsong now. She married a guy named Otis from Winter Haven, Fla. He played a little basketball in his younger days. When Deborah introduced us, she mentioned he played for the University of Houston. Immediately, my mind told me it just could not be so. There was no way I was sharing a table with a legend.
We chatted about athletes who played at Central who went on to play college sports and professionally as well. He knew about some of our former Red Devils. Since Deborah is a cousin of Ken Johnson, Otis was familiar with him. He also knew Joe C. Meriweather. It was when he started talking about playing against some of the people we were talking about that I realized he really could be that “Otis Birdsong.”
Some of you will remember Otis was the Southwest Conference Player of the Decade for the 1970s and was the second pick overall in the 1977 NBA draft by the Kansas City Kings. He was a four-time NBA all-star. And he married one of my classmates. Deborah and Otis have five adult children and several grandchildren.
And, yes, he was that Otis Birdsong. I had to look him up on the internet to be sure. I wish had just asked him if he was who I thought he was instead of researching his images on the internet after I got home that night.
I wish now that I had attended earlier reunions. Maybe I would have already known about Deborah and Otis. Maybe there are other stories out there I could have discovered about my former classmates. I sure wish I had attended those earlier reunions. I could have filled up a whole lot more inches in the newspaper I’m sure.
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn't look the same”
Ricky Nelson, once a famous teen idol in the 1950s and the star of an early television show, sang those words in his song “Garden Party.” I understood them a little better after attending the Central High class reunion for 1973-75 last weekend at the Central Activities Center. It was a lot of fun. I want to thank all those people who worked so hard to put it together. It was the first class reunion of any kind that I had attended since I graduated.
But, I wish they had not made up those badges for us to wear.
It hit me like a ton of bricks that I no longer look like I did back in 1975. It hit me even harder that I would have worn such ugly clothing. The badge had my senior portrait – taken straight from the 1975 annual – of me in a plaid coat with a striped tie. It was ugly.
I was not the only person there that could, or should have been, embarrassed by those photos from that annual. I saw folks that no longer favored those photos. That, for most, was a good thing. We all have to grow older, mature and step aside for a new generation to take over our places as youth. I’m working on being a second generation past those days.
My hair is a lot shorter than it was back then. I still, from time to time, allow it to get a little too long, but nothing in length to compare to that 1975 style. I could grow it as long as it was back in 1975 if I wanted, but it would not be the same color without some help from a beautician. There were some folks there that were fighting the aging process by this method – and you could tell. I pointed out a spot on one fellow’s hair that he had missed. He swore he did not dye his hair – and pigs fly, too.
For the most part, the majority of people attending were content to allow the aging process to take place.
The night began with a solemn moment as classmates from the three classes who are no longer with us were honored. My class, 1975, had the most recognized – it seemed like more than 30 had left us.
Alan McDonald, the husband of a classmate and who did not graduate from Central, remarked that the 1975 class had lost more people than he had graduated with at Glenwood. He also said if my photo appeared on the screen that he was going to run out of the place. I assured him that if my photo showed up, I was going to run with him.
Thank goodness my photo was not there, but I could easily have been included with the group had I not gone through heart surgery in February. Because of that, I was among the lucky people who were able to attend the reunion this year. Hopefully, I will attend more over time.
As I mentioned last week, I am getting better at learning about Facebook. It sure came in handy at the reunion. A lot of the people who chose to attend have Facebook accounts with current photos, so I recognized more of them than I probably should have. Most people had to look at my badge – twice – to recognize me. I cannot say that no one recognized me because I see many of the people who attended on a regular basis. A lot of us are still here in this area - Phenix City, Smiths Station and Columbus. I guess we all had hopes that this area could be a better place if we planted our roots deep enough. There is always hope.
Others from our classes left and made better lives in other places. I suspect they make those places better places for their being there. It does not hurt to spread our area’s influence over a larger area. The class of 1975 has members living in places like Ariton, Ala., and Little Rock, Ark., and Los Angeles. I am glad some of them were able to come back “home” for the reunion. I am sure the members of the other two classes at the reunion can boast of the same wide-spread influence of their classes.
As anyone who knows me knows, I love to talk about sports, especially local sports. I used to enjoy talking about sports on a broader scale and I got an opportunity to talk about sports on that broader scale at the reunion with someone sitting at the table I homesteaded when no one was looking. Actually, I just sat down to eat while others were in line getting their food and remained the rest of the night because of the conversation.
I sat at a table with one of my classmates who moved away, Deborah Boddie. Her last name is no longer Boddie. It’s Birdsong now. She married a guy named Otis from Winter Haven, Fla. He played a little basketball in his younger days. When Deborah introduced us, she mentioned he played for the University of Houston. Immediately, my mind told me it just could not be so. There was no way I was sharing a table with a legend.
We chatted about athletes who played at Central who went on to play college sports and professionally as well. He knew about some of our former Red Devils. Since Deborah is a cousin of Ken Johnson, Otis was familiar with him. He also knew Joe C. Meriweather. It was when he started talking about playing against some of the people we were talking about that I realized he really could be that “Otis Birdsong.”
Some of you will remember Otis was the Southwest Conference Player of the Decade for the 1970s and was the second pick overall in the 1977 NBA draft by the Kansas City Kings. He was a four-time NBA all-star. And he married one of my classmates. Deborah and Otis have five adult children and several grandchildren.
And, yes, he was that Otis Birdsong. I had to look him up on the internet to be sure. I wish had just asked him if he was who I thought he was instead of researching his images on the internet after I got home that night.
I wish now that I had attended earlier reunions. Maybe I would have already known about Deborah and Otis. Maybe there are other stories out there I could have discovered about my former classmates. I sure wish I had attended those earlier reunions. I could have filled up a whole lot more inches in the newspaper I’m sure.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Do you know the difference between a doodad and a whatnot?
Southern folk have such wonderful words and expressions. I was reminded of this the other day when talking with Myra Boutwell about her vacation.
Myra told me she spent her time off washing her “doodads” and “whatnots.” While that could be taken as something less than innocent, that was exactly what it was – innocent. I understood what she was talking about without having to take the time to think about it.
You see, I know what whatnots are – and doodads, too.
Whatnots are the same as nicknacks and bric-a-brac. They are defined as “miscellaneous curios.”
A doodad is the same thing as a thingamajig, a thingamabob, a doohickey, a whatchamacallit and a whatsis. All are defined as “something unspecified whose name is either forgotten or not known.”
My grandmother used to have shelves of doodads and whatnots. She used to get on to me about messing with them all the time. It is just wrong to mess with someone’s doodads and whatnots.
Hopefully, you understand the difference. Many people do not and get them confused all the time – if they even know the terms to begin with. Let me see if I can explain. A doodad, thingamajig, thingamabob, doohickey, whatchamacallit or whatsis can come off of a whatnot, nicknack or bric-a-brac, but a whatnot, nicknack or bric-a-brac cannot come off of a doodad, thingamajig, thingamabob, doohickey, whatchamacallit or whatsis. Understand? It is really not that difficult to understand.
Knowing the difference between the two objects is important in the South – like knowing the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption. You do know the difference don’t you?
A hissie fit is a childish temper tantrum. A conniption is a display of bad temper, usually by an adult. The proper verb associated with these two terms is “throw.” Children throw a hissie fit. Adults throw a conniption. I have seen both and must say neither is a pleasant sight. Heck, come to think of it, I have thrown both at different times in my life. In both cases, I have to say I would have been described as a bit cantankerous. That means I was bad-tempered, argumentative or uncooperative.
Understanding Southerners is not difficult, if you were raised here in the South. If you are from somewhere else, it takes a while to catch on – eh, understand what’s being said.
I have grown up knowing that a “heap” is a large amount of something. Having a “hankering” means I have a strong or persistent desire or yearning. When someone says, “I hear tell,” I understand that person is about to convey information to me that is second-handed.
When someone tells me they “like to” or “nearabout,” I understand that they almost did something or that something almost happened to them. I know that “piddlin’” means small or inferior, to feel poorly or to waste time. If someone is described as “no ‘count,” that person is good for nothing – of no account.
I know most of these things because I have lived them. I have been “ornery,” “toted” things, had to perform a duty “lickety split,” and gotten “riled up.”
Thank goodness, I have never “walked on the slant.” If I had, I would have been drunk and needed those cucumbers I wrote about a couple of weeks ago to sober up.
I know when someone says, “That dog won’t hunt,” that it is a bad idea. If someone says, “There are a good many,” it means there are a lot of whatever they are talking about.
I am Southern enough to know the difference between Redneck Caviar and a Southern Seafood platter. Redneck Caviar can be either potted meat or black-eyed peas and a Southern Seafood Platter is a tin of sardines. I am Southern enough to know that folks are talking about the American Civil War when they say, “War Between the States,” “War for Southern Independence” or “War of Northern Aggression.”
I have been “tore up.” I have tried to avoid any signs of being “uppity.” I know what a “washateria” is and what to do when I go to one. I even know where “over yonder” is most of the time.
And, if you understand all these terms, you will understand when I say, “Your druthers is my ruthers.” On that, we can all agree.
Myra told me she spent her time off washing her “doodads” and “whatnots.” While that could be taken as something less than innocent, that was exactly what it was – innocent. I understood what she was talking about without having to take the time to think about it.
You see, I know what whatnots are – and doodads, too.
Whatnots are the same as nicknacks and bric-a-brac. They are defined as “miscellaneous curios.”
A doodad is the same thing as a thingamajig, a thingamabob, a doohickey, a whatchamacallit and a whatsis. All are defined as “something unspecified whose name is either forgotten or not known.”
My grandmother used to have shelves of doodads and whatnots. She used to get on to me about messing with them all the time. It is just wrong to mess with someone’s doodads and whatnots.
Hopefully, you understand the difference. Many people do not and get them confused all the time – if they even know the terms to begin with. Let me see if I can explain. A doodad, thingamajig, thingamabob, doohickey, whatchamacallit or whatsis can come off of a whatnot, nicknack or bric-a-brac, but a whatnot, nicknack or bric-a-brac cannot come off of a doodad, thingamajig, thingamabob, doohickey, whatchamacallit or whatsis. Understand? It is really not that difficult to understand.
Knowing the difference between the two objects is important in the South – like knowing the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption. You do know the difference don’t you?
A hissie fit is a childish temper tantrum. A conniption is a display of bad temper, usually by an adult. The proper verb associated with these two terms is “throw.” Children throw a hissie fit. Adults throw a conniption. I have seen both and must say neither is a pleasant sight. Heck, come to think of it, I have thrown both at different times in my life. In both cases, I have to say I would have been described as a bit cantankerous. That means I was bad-tempered, argumentative or uncooperative.
Understanding Southerners is not difficult, if you were raised here in the South. If you are from somewhere else, it takes a while to catch on – eh, understand what’s being said.
I have grown up knowing that a “heap” is a large amount of something. Having a “hankering” means I have a strong or persistent desire or yearning. When someone says, “I hear tell,” I understand that person is about to convey information to me that is second-handed.
When someone tells me they “like to” or “nearabout,” I understand that they almost did something or that something almost happened to them. I know that “piddlin’” means small or inferior, to feel poorly or to waste time. If someone is described as “no ‘count,” that person is good for nothing – of no account.
I know most of these things because I have lived them. I have been “ornery,” “toted” things, had to perform a duty “lickety split,” and gotten “riled up.”
Thank goodness, I have never “walked on the slant.” If I had, I would have been drunk and needed those cucumbers I wrote about a couple of weeks ago to sober up.
I know when someone says, “That dog won’t hunt,” that it is a bad idea. If someone says, “There are a good many,” it means there are a lot of whatever they are talking about.
I am Southern enough to know the difference between Redneck Caviar and a Southern Seafood platter. Redneck Caviar can be either potted meat or black-eyed peas and a Southern Seafood Platter is a tin of sardines. I am Southern enough to know that folks are talking about the American Civil War when they say, “War Between the States,” “War for Southern Independence” or “War of Northern Aggression.”
I have been “tore up.” I have tried to avoid any signs of being “uppity.” I know what a “washateria” is and what to do when I go to one. I even know where “over yonder” is most of the time.
And, if you understand all these terms, you will understand when I say, “Your druthers is my ruthers.” On that, we can all agree.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Will you remember to eat your cucumber slices before bed?
From time to time, I receive an interesting e-mail from a friend. And sometimes, I share the information I receive with other friends. This past weekend, a friend (Kim Eckert) sent me the following e-mail and I thought it was filled with information I thought you would enjoy. So, here it is – with some personal comments from me:
1. Cucumbers contain most of the vitamins you need every day. Just one cucumber contains Vitamin B1, Vitamin B2, Vitamin B3, Vitamin B5, Vitamin B6, Folic Acid, Vitamin C, Calcium, Iron, Magnesium, Phosphorus, Potassium and Zinc.
2. Feeling tired in the afternoon, put down the caffeinated soda and pick up a cucumber. Cucumbers are a good source of B Vitamins (see No. 1) and Carbohydrates that can provide that quick pick-me-up that can last for hours. (Of course, I drink decaffeinated sodas – better described as carbonated mop water. Whether caffeinated or decaffeinated, neither gives me a quick pick-me-up. Unfortunately, I probably will not eat a cucumber as a replacement for my decaffeinated soda.)
3. Tired of your bathroom mirror fogging up after a shower? Try rubbing a cucumber slice along the mirror, it will eliminate the fog and provide a soothing, spa-like fragrance. (Or you could use one of those anti-fog wipes and not waste food.)
4. Are grubs and slugs ruining your planting beds? Place a few slices in a small pie tin and your garden will be free of pests all season long. The chemicals in the cucumber react with the aluminum to give off a scent undetectable to humans but drive garden pests crazy and make them flee the area. (The smell of cucumbers can drive me away if they are strong enough.)
5. Are you looking for a fast and easy way to remove cellulite? Before going out or to the pool, try rubbing a slice or two of cucumbers along your problem area for a few minutes, the phytochemicals in the cucumber cause the collagen in your skin to tighten, firming up the outer layer and reducing the visibility of cellulite. It works great on wrinkles, too. (I have found that when I eat cucumbers that my face tightens up – kind of like when you eat a lemon.)
6. Want to avoid a hangover or terrible headache? Eat a few cucumber slices before going to bed and wake up refreshed and headache free. Cucumbers contain enough sugar, B vitamins and electrolytes to replenish essential nutrients the body lost, keeping everything in equilibrium, avoiding both a hangover and headache. (In order to get a hangover, you have to be drunk. If you are drunk, do you think you will remember to eat some cucumber slices before going to bed? If you do, you will wake up with cucumber breath.)
7. Looking to fight off that afternoon or evening snacking binge? Cucumbers have been used for centuries and often used by European trappers, traders and explorers for quick meals to thwart off starvation. (To thwart off starvation – yep, that’s the time I will eat cucumbers. Or when I’m drunk and can remember No. 6.)
8. Have an important meeting or job interview and you realize that you don't have enough time to polish your shoes? Rub a freshly cut cucumber over the shoes. Its chemicals will provide a quick and durable shine that not only looks great but also repels water. (The smell will also repel anyone you come in contact with over the next few hours.)
9. Out of WD 40 and need to fix a squeaky hinge? Take a cucumber slice and rub it along the problematic hinge, and voila, the squeak is gone.
10. Stressed out and don't have time for massage, facial or visit to the spa? Cut up an entire cucumber and place it in a boiling pot of water. The chemicals and nutrients from the cucumber will react with the boiling water and be released in the steam, creating a soothing, relaxing aroma that has been shown the reduce stress in new mothers and college students during final exams. (I will avoid this as I am neither a new mother nor a college student taking a final exam.)
11. Just finish a business lunch and realize you don't have gum or mints? Take a slice of cucumber and press it to the roof of your mouth with your tongue for 30 seconds to eliminate bad breath. The phytochemicals will kill the bacteria in your mouth responsible for causing bad breath. (The taste would kill me.)
12. Looking for a “green” way to clean your faucets, sinks or stainless steel? Take a slice of cucumber and rub it on the surface you want to clean. Not only will it remove years of tarnish and bring back the shine, but is won't leave streaks and won't harm you fingers or fingernails while you clean. (And you eat this vegetable?)
13. Using a pen and made a mistake? Take the outside of the cucumber and slowly use it to erase the pen writing. It also works great on crayons and markers that the kids have used to decorate the walls. (I am sure the fragrance it leaves on the paper and walls will also keep the grubs and slugs away, too.)
Pass this along to everybody you know who is looking for better and safer ways to solve life's everyday problems.
This e-mail is not going to solve life’s everyday problems, but it gives you some things to think about.
1. Cucumbers contain most of the vitamins you need every day. Just one cucumber contains Vitamin B1, Vitamin B2, Vitamin B3, Vitamin B5, Vitamin B6, Folic Acid, Vitamin C, Calcium, Iron, Magnesium, Phosphorus, Potassium and Zinc.
2. Feeling tired in the afternoon, put down the caffeinated soda and pick up a cucumber. Cucumbers are a good source of B Vitamins (see No. 1) and Carbohydrates that can provide that quick pick-me-up that can last for hours. (Of course, I drink decaffeinated sodas – better described as carbonated mop water. Whether caffeinated or decaffeinated, neither gives me a quick pick-me-up. Unfortunately, I probably will not eat a cucumber as a replacement for my decaffeinated soda.)
3. Tired of your bathroom mirror fogging up after a shower? Try rubbing a cucumber slice along the mirror, it will eliminate the fog and provide a soothing, spa-like fragrance. (Or you could use one of those anti-fog wipes and not waste food.)
4. Are grubs and slugs ruining your planting beds? Place a few slices in a small pie tin and your garden will be free of pests all season long. The chemicals in the cucumber react with the aluminum to give off a scent undetectable to humans but drive garden pests crazy and make them flee the area. (The smell of cucumbers can drive me away if they are strong enough.)
5. Are you looking for a fast and easy way to remove cellulite? Before going out or to the pool, try rubbing a slice or two of cucumbers along your problem area for a few minutes, the phytochemicals in the cucumber cause the collagen in your skin to tighten, firming up the outer layer and reducing the visibility of cellulite. It works great on wrinkles, too. (I have found that when I eat cucumbers that my face tightens up – kind of like when you eat a lemon.)
6. Want to avoid a hangover or terrible headache? Eat a few cucumber slices before going to bed and wake up refreshed and headache free. Cucumbers contain enough sugar, B vitamins and electrolytes to replenish essential nutrients the body lost, keeping everything in equilibrium, avoiding both a hangover and headache. (In order to get a hangover, you have to be drunk. If you are drunk, do you think you will remember to eat some cucumber slices before going to bed? If you do, you will wake up with cucumber breath.)
7. Looking to fight off that afternoon or evening snacking binge? Cucumbers have been used for centuries and often used by European trappers, traders and explorers for quick meals to thwart off starvation. (To thwart off starvation – yep, that’s the time I will eat cucumbers. Or when I’m drunk and can remember No. 6.)
8. Have an important meeting or job interview and you realize that you don't have enough time to polish your shoes? Rub a freshly cut cucumber over the shoes. Its chemicals will provide a quick and durable shine that not only looks great but also repels water. (The smell will also repel anyone you come in contact with over the next few hours.)
9. Out of WD 40 and need to fix a squeaky hinge? Take a cucumber slice and rub it along the problematic hinge, and voila, the squeak is gone.
10. Stressed out and don't have time for massage, facial or visit to the spa? Cut up an entire cucumber and place it in a boiling pot of water. The chemicals and nutrients from the cucumber will react with the boiling water and be released in the steam, creating a soothing, relaxing aroma that has been shown the reduce stress in new mothers and college students during final exams. (I will avoid this as I am neither a new mother nor a college student taking a final exam.)
11. Just finish a business lunch and realize you don't have gum or mints? Take a slice of cucumber and press it to the roof of your mouth with your tongue for 30 seconds to eliminate bad breath. The phytochemicals will kill the bacteria in your mouth responsible for causing bad breath. (The taste would kill me.)
12. Looking for a “green” way to clean your faucets, sinks or stainless steel? Take a slice of cucumber and rub it on the surface you want to clean. Not only will it remove years of tarnish and bring back the shine, but is won't leave streaks and won't harm you fingers or fingernails while you clean. (And you eat this vegetable?)
13. Using a pen and made a mistake? Take the outside of the cucumber and slowly use it to erase the pen writing. It also works great on crayons and markers that the kids have used to decorate the walls. (I am sure the fragrance it leaves on the paper and walls will also keep the grubs and slugs away, too.)
Pass this along to everybody you know who is looking for better and safer ways to solve life's everyday problems.
This e-mail is not going to solve life’s everyday problems, but it gives you some things to think about.
New generation can thank Mario Galento
My grandmother, Annie Locke, was a wrestling fan. I guess that explains why I like to watch – and occasionally attend wrestling matches. As I have grown older, I have attended fewer and fewer of the events.
My children, on the other hand, still attend wrestling matches. They like to go to the GCW events here in Phenix City. They seem to enjoy them – just like I did as a kid.
As I stated to start this column, my grandmother was a wrestling fan. If wrestling was being held within 100 miles of her location, she wanted to go. If wrestling came on television, she watched – and you better not get in her way. I think she knew as many holds as any professional wrestler and was prepared to use them if you needed to be put in your place.
I can remember attending wrestling matches in the old Municipal Auditorium in Columbus, the Houston County Farm Center in Dothan, at Fred Ward’s Front Street Arena in Columbus, Darnell Field in Phenix City and on Dillingham Street in Phenix City at a place that no longer exists. In fact, none of the old wrestling venues – except the Houston County Farm Center – still exist. They are now faded memories of my youth, but not completely faded away.
My father made sure my grandmother made it to many of those wrestling matches. I sat ringside with Granny Locke while Daddy sat in the cheap seats. That was probably the best thing for him to do since he always pulled for the bad guys. I think he became friends with most of them because he was their only fan. Granny Locke always pulled for the good guys and threatened the bad guys with bodily harm – many times telling them to stay back or she would stick them with a hat pin.
I was fortunate to share the experience with my grandmother and my dad – my uncle Wallace stepped in from time to time to make sure granny got to the matches when Daddy couldn’t. It wasn’t quite a family event to go to wrestling, but we went together to those places.
Once in a while, when traveling to high school football games on Friday nights, Frankie Bell and I get to talking about the good ole days of wrestling – when wrestling was real. Well, lets say it was “real” entertaining, much more so than today. No wrestlers today can match the fear that Ox Baker put into a child’s heart when he wrestled or Abdulla the Butcher for that matter. These guys played their roles as evildoers to the hilt.
Everybody hated Ox and Abdulla, but there were others who were just as mean – Mad Dog and Butcher Vachon to name a couple. The bad guys today, well, they are comic book characters at best. Does Caine or the Undertaker strike fear into the hearts of little children? I do not think so. The Assassins were scarier than these two comic book characters.
I think my favorite bad guy was Mario Galento (real name: Bonnie Lee Boyette). Mario, who had significant roles in a couple of movies – Frontier Women and Natchez Trail – in the 1950s and 1960s was good at acting his role of villain. In fact, Mario could stir up a crowd to a near frenzy. The local police would have to escort Mario from the ring – sometimes to the ring as well.
After the matches, though, Mario had another job – selling pizza to the crowd. He and his family owned a pizzeria in Atlanta and brought their product to some of the matches to sell. Mario is also the first wrestler I knew that sold and autographed photos at the matches. Mario was a bad guy and an entrepreneur. Today’s wrestlers can thank pioneers like Mario for teaching promoters how to market their products – their wrestlers.
The guys I cheered for and against as a kid are the same kind of guys my kids go to watch today – local guys trying to make a little extra money on the side and hopefully making it to the higher levels of the sport in the future. If they do not make it to the big time, they can be happy knowing they made a lot of people happy by providing weekly entertainment – and by establishing lasting friendships and fan bases. For every John Cena, there are hundreds of Vordell Walkers out there trying to keep people interested in the sport.
Ric Flair, Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart and Hulk Hogan did not hook me on wrestling. Sure, I enjoyed watching them perform over the years, but it was wrestlers like Chief Little Eagle, Greg Peterson, Billy Boy Hines, Bill Dromo, Dick Steinborn, Tito Copa and even Mario Galento got me hooked long before I ever heard those other names. It wasn’t the guys you see on Monday nights on national television or on pay-per-view events who got me hooked. It was the guys that wrestled at the Darnell Fields, Front Street Arenas and Houston County Farm Centers that did that – just like the guys wrestling in Phenix City on Thursday nights are doing now for a new generation of fans.
My children, on the other hand, still attend wrestling matches. They like to go to the GCW events here in Phenix City. They seem to enjoy them – just like I did as a kid.
As I stated to start this column, my grandmother was a wrestling fan. If wrestling was being held within 100 miles of her location, she wanted to go. If wrestling came on television, she watched – and you better not get in her way. I think she knew as many holds as any professional wrestler and was prepared to use them if you needed to be put in your place.
I can remember attending wrestling matches in the old Municipal Auditorium in Columbus, the Houston County Farm Center in Dothan, at Fred Ward’s Front Street Arena in Columbus, Darnell Field in Phenix City and on Dillingham Street in Phenix City at a place that no longer exists. In fact, none of the old wrestling venues – except the Houston County Farm Center – still exist. They are now faded memories of my youth, but not completely faded away.
My father made sure my grandmother made it to many of those wrestling matches. I sat ringside with Granny Locke while Daddy sat in the cheap seats. That was probably the best thing for him to do since he always pulled for the bad guys. I think he became friends with most of them because he was their only fan. Granny Locke always pulled for the good guys and threatened the bad guys with bodily harm – many times telling them to stay back or she would stick them with a hat pin.
I was fortunate to share the experience with my grandmother and my dad – my uncle Wallace stepped in from time to time to make sure granny got to the matches when Daddy couldn’t. It wasn’t quite a family event to go to wrestling, but we went together to those places.
Once in a while, when traveling to high school football games on Friday nights, Frankie Bell and I get to talking about the good ole days of wrestling – when wrestling was real. Well, lets say it was “real” entertaining, much more so than today. No wrestlers today can match the fear that Ox Baker put into a child’s heart when he wrestled or Abdulla the Butcher for that matter. These guys played their roles as evildoers to the hilt.
Everybody hated Ox and Abdulla, but there were others who were just as mean – Mad Dog and Butcher Vachon to name a couple. The bad guys today, well, they are comic book characters at best. Does Caine or the Undertaker strike fear into the hearts of little children? I do not think so. The Assassins were scarier than these two comic book characters.
I think my favorite bad guy was Mario Galento (real name: Bonnie Lee Boyette). Mario, who had significant roles in a couple of movies – Frontier Women and Natchez Trail – in the 1950s and 1960s was good at acting his role of villain. In fact, Mario could stir up a crowd to a near frenzy. The local police would have to escort Mario from the ring – sometimes to the ring as well.
After the matches, though, Mario had another job – selling pizza to the crowd. He and his family owned a pizzeria in Atlanta and brought their product to some of the matches to sell. Mario is also the first wrestler I knew that sold and autographed photos at the matches. Mario was a bad guy and an entrepreneur. Today’s wrestlers can thank pioneers like Mario for teaching promoters how to market their products – their wrestlers.
The guys I cheered for and against as a kid are the same kind of guys my kids go to watch today – local guys trying to make a little extra money on the side and hopefully making it to the higher levels of the sport in the future. If they do not make it to the big time, they can be happy knowing they made a lot of people happy by providing weekly entertainment – and by establishing lasting friendships and fan bases. For every John Cena, there are hundreds of Vordell Walkers out there trying to keep people interested in the sport.
Ric Flair, Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart and Hulk Hogan did not hook me on wrestling. Sure, I enjoyed watching them perform over the years, but it was wrestlers like Chief Little Eagle, Greg Peterson, Billy Boy Hines, Bill Dromo, Dick Steinborn, Tito Copa and even Mario Galento got me hooked long before I ever heard those other names. It wasn’t the guys you see on Monday nights on national television or on pay-per-view events who got me hooked. It was the guys that wrestled at the Darnell Fields, Front Street Arenas and Houston County Farm Centers that did that – just like the guys wrestling in Phenix City on Thursday nights are doing now for a new generation of fans.
Thank goodness the case was dismissed
Let me say right off that I do not want anyone to think that all Phenix City police officers fit in the following description. But, there are some that do.
Some of our officers have become too disenfranchised from our community. In other words, they do not know us anymore. They have become too rigid in the performance of their duties and no longer understand that they are hired to “serve and protect.” Some of them must have misunderstood those words as to “harass and ticket.” But, I repeat, not all of our officers are like this – in fact very few are like this.
I remember the old days – when Phenix City was not that much smaller than today, but a whole lot more personal. Police officers knew the people they were to serve and protect by name. There was an officer in my old neighborhood in Asbury Park that not only knew the names of the kids in the neighborhood, but also the names of their parents and in which houses they lived. I bet you will find few that could claim that today.
I miss those days. I feel sorry for those people who will never know those days when life was lived at a slower pace – no video games, no 24-hour television stations and less mass transportation. In those days, kids played outside and neighbors talked with each other. We never had to create a neighborhood watch and put up those signs all over the place. In my old neighborhood, everyone watched out for each other. I am lucky to still live in a neighborhood where folks care about each other.
I especially missed those old days when I was pulled over by a Phenix City police officer on May 24 on my way to work. The officer asked why I was not wearing my seatbelt. I told her my doctor told me not to wear it because I had heart surgery recently and that the chest incision was not completely healed. She asked for the doctor’s excuse. Now, I do not know about you, but when my doctor gives me instructions he does not always write them down. I guess he feels I am intelligent enough to understand what he is saying and to follow those instructions. I told the officer I did not have a written excuse from my doctor. I did offer to show my chest incision as proof. The officer informed me that was “not relevant.”
Guess what? I was issued a ticket.
I asked the officer to have a supervisor come to the scene. I was told, “He said he ain’t coming.” I was also told a clean driving record of 38 years was “not relevant.” I was also informed by the officer that I would be arrested, handcuffed and taken to jail if I did not sign the ticket being issued. I signed under protest – actually wrote that on the ticket along with my signature.
As I began to leave, a second officer came to the scene. I stepped out of my vehicle thinking this must be the supervisor. It was not. This officer stepped out of his vehicle and, when he saw me step out of mine, held up one hand as if to tell me to halt and placed the other on his weapon. What? Was he going to shoot me for a seatbelt violation? I asked if he was the supervisor and he said he was not. I left.
I immediately contacted the City Manager and Police Chief. I informed them of the situation. I also told them to go talk to the officer and when the officer said I got ugly that she would be telling the truth. There was nothing they could do, but suggested I get a doctor’s excuse and take it to court. They said the judge would probably dismiss the charges. You think? But, why was I going to have to go to court in the first place? Could not the officer have used some common sense and sent me on my way with a warning or by telling me to be careful until I could wear the seatbelt again? The Police Chief told me the city could give the officers it employed all the training possible, but that they could not “fix stupid.” No they can’t.
I did inform the City Manager and Police Chief that before this ordeal ended it would cost the city more than the $25 dollars it would cost me if I were convicted in court. I figured at their salaries I had already gotten ahead by $50 or more for them having to deal with me over the telephone. And, I figured by going to court I would add to that total. That was the price the city would have to pay to keep hardened criminals like me off the streets.
So, I had to cancel another appointment with one of my doctors – not the one that told me not to wear the seatbelt (that was my heart surgeon) – in order to attend court on June 24. After 30 minutes of waiting, my case was called. I obtained no excuse from my doctor to take to court. I did not think I really needed that since I had proof of my reason for not wearing the seatbelt on my chest. The judge looked at me and asked if I had been wearing my seatbelt at the time I was pulled over and I said I was not. He said more than asked, “You weren’t wearing it because of your heart surgery?” I said, “Yes sir.” He said, “Case dismissed.” Finally, the ordeal was over.
Do I want you to harbor ill feelings for our police officers? No. There are far too many good officers to allow a few bad apples to taint their reputations. Do I want you to feel sorry for me for having to go through the ordeal? No. I want you to fight back like I did when you are confronted by the kind of police officer I had to deal with. Tell the Police Chief and City Manager of any problems. They will not know there is a problem if you do not tell them. And, remember the good officers who genuinely serve and protect our community, give out praise when it is deserved.
And, remember to carry your doctor’s instructions with you at all times.
Some of our officers have become too disenfranchised from our community. In other words, they do not know us anymore. They have become too rigid in the performance of their duties and no longer understand that they are hired to “serve and protect.” Some of them must have misunderstood those words as to “harass and ticket.” But, I repeat, not all of our officers are like this – in fact very few are like this.
I remember the old days – when Phenix City was not that much smaller than today, but a whole lot more personal. Police officers knew the people they were to serve and protect by name. There was an officer in my old neighborhood in Asbury Park that not only knew the names of the kids in the neighborhood, but also the names of their parents and in which houses they lived. I bet you will find few that could claim that today.
I miss those days. I feel sorry for those people who will never know those days when life was lived at a slower pace – no video games, no 24-hour television stations and less mass transportation. In those days, kids played outside and neighbors talked with each other. We never had to create a neighborhood watch and put up those signs all over the place. In my old neighborhood, everyone watched out for each other. I am lucky to still live in a neighborhood where folks care about each other.
I especially missed those old days when I was pulled over by a Phenix City police officer on May 24 on my way to work. The officer asked why I was not wearing my seatbelt. I told her my doctor told me not to wear it because I had heart surgery recently and that the chest incision was not completely healed. She asked for the doctor’s excuse. Now, I do not know about you, but when my doctor gives me instructions he does not always write them down. I guess he feels I am intelligent enough to understand what he is saying and to follow those instructions. I told the officer I did not have a written excuse from my doctor. I did offer to show my chest incision as proof. The officer informed me that was “not relevant.”
Guess what? I was issued a ticket.
I asked the officer to have a supervisor come to the scene. I was told, “He said he ain’t coming.” I was also told a clean driving record of 38 years was “not relevant.” I was also informed by the officer that I would be arrested, handcuffed and taken to jail if I did not sign the ticket being issued. I signed under protest – actually wrote that on the ticket along with my signature.
As I began to leave, a second officer came to the scene. I stepped out of my vehicle thinking this must be the supervisor. It was not. This officer stepped out of his vehicle and, when he saw me step out of mine, held up one hand as if to tell me to halt and placed the other on his weapon. What? Was he going to shoot me for a seatbelt violation? I asked if he was the supervisor and he said he was not. I left.
I immediately contacted the City Manager and Police Chief. I informed them of the situation. I also told them to go talk to the officer and when the officer said I got ugly that she would be telling the truth. There was nothing they could do, but suggested I get a doctor’s excuse and take it to court. They said the judge would probably dismiss the charges. You think? But, why was I going to have to go to court in the first place? Could not the officer have used some common sense and sent me on my way with a warning or by telling me to be careful until I could wear the seatbelt again? The Police Chief told me the city could give the officers it employed all the training possible, but that they could not “fix stupid.” No they can’t.
I did inform the City Manager and Police Chief that before this ordeal ended it would cost the city more than the $25 dollars it would cost me if I were convicted in court. I figured at their salaries I had already gotten ahead by $50 or more for them having to deal with me over the telephone. And, I figured by going to court I would add to that total. That was the price the city would have to pay to keep hardened criminals like me off the streets.
So, I had to cancel another appointment with one of my doctors – not the one that told me not to wear the seatbelt (that was my heart surgeon) – in order to attend court on June 24. After 30 minutes of waiting, my case was called. I obtained no excuse from my doctor to take to court. I did not think I really needed that since I had proof of my reason for not wearing the seatbelt on my chest. The judge looked at me and asked if I had been wearing my seatbelt at the time I was pulled over and I said I was not. He said more than asked, “You weren’t wearing it because of your heart surgery?” I said, “Yes sir.” He said, “Case dismissed.” Finally, the ordeal was over.
Do I want you to harbor ill feelings for our police officers? No. There are far too many good officers to allow a few bad apples to taint their reputations. Do I want you to feel sorry for me for having to go through the ordeal? No. I want you to fight back like I did when you are confronted by the kind of police officer I had to deal with. Tell the Police Chief and City Manager of any problems. They will not know there is a problem if you do not tell them. And, remember the good officers who genuinely serve and protect our community, give out praise when it is deserved.
And, remember to carry your doctor’s instructions with you at all times.
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