July 14 '01
Volume 267
Fabulous Fourth
Entertaining The Troops
As most readers now know, my wife
Barbara
is the director of the Interfaith Storm Relief Effort
for Pontotoc County. Her work allows her the unique opportunity to work closely
with not only those individuals who suffered some type of material loss in
the tornado that ravaged Pontotoc last February, but she is in close contact
with volunteer efforts, too.
Government agencies and programs do much in the way of providing relief to
disaster victims through such entities as the Federal Emergency Management
Agency (FEMA), but civic and religious organizations strive to serve others
beyond that which is provided by the government. Large cash donations have
been made available through a number of businesses and faith-based groups.
Additionally, manpower has been supplied by many of these same organizations.
A few weeks ago, Barbara informed me that the Apostolics were lined up to
help with various construction projects. She said they were sending a coordinator
to live on site for a few months and he would direct the efforts of volunteer
teams sent from Indiana and Illinois representing the Apostolic Church. The
teams would serve mostly on a weekly basis, with replacement workers arriving
weekly. Later, I learned that the coordinator, Ron Hodel (rhymes with yodel),
was a retiree from State Farm Insurance Co.
The week prior to the fourth of July there were nineteen young men on hand
to serve as volunteer workers for the Apostolics. The following week four
retirees from varied backgrounds arrived to replace the younger workers.
The new group would be responsible for wiring the three houses that the younger
men had roofed during their workweek .
Once Barbara knew the schedules of all involved, she asked me if I would
mind our having the retirees over on the Fourth of July. I am accustomed
to having a cookout on the Fourth, and a half-dozen more mouths to feed
didn’t seem to be too many. I thought her goodwill gesture appropriate
and gave her the green light to proceed.
After we had eaten breakfast on the morning of the Fourth, we spent the rest
of the day preparing for our guests. I had set aside the morning to clean
out the garage, and it took me most of the morning. Many years ago Barbara
added gumbo to the menu of our cookout, thus she was soon about the task
of preparing the spicy side dish. She also prepared side dishes of coleslaw
and potato salad along with a cake and pie for dessert.
After lunch I began preparing slices of pork tenderloin on the smoker that
Jason had used to barbecue some beef spareribs and started a freezer of homemade
ice cream. I fired up the gas grill shortly before five o’clock and
was soon grilling hamburgers and boneless pork chops. Rayanne had called
earlier to ask if we had enough for her gang. Her family had been in Senatobia
at lunch to celebrate the Fourth with one of Anson's brothers. Since they
were coming through, they wanted to eat with us, before driving in to Belmont
for the night.
Five of our six guests arrived shortly after six o'clock and the sixth one,
Bro. Joe Steen was on hand when the volunteer workers arrived. As each one
was introduced, I was amazed that most of them had three-letter names, Ray,
Bob, Don, and Ron. Chuck was the oddly named one, but maybe it was because
he was from Indiana while the others were from Illinois. They were most
complimentary of our home and the meal we served them.
Once our dinner conversation gravitated toward the reason for the upcoming
RRN cookout, I found myself answering all kinds of questions about this
newsletter. One of the men asked for the address of my website, so I removed
an issue from the binder containing this year's publications and gave it
to him. He passed it around to allow the others to preview it. The crew leader,
Ron Hodel, seemed especially interested in the magnitude of the issues, and
after skimming through this year's publications, he declared the work to
be "impressive."
It has become a part of my routine to introduce first-time visitors to the
sounds of our vintage Victrola and allow them the privilege of listening
to music generated on a non-electrical, strictly mechanical device. One of
the men asked about a brass object near the turntable.
"What’s that over at the back?" quizzed Bro. Joe.
"Oh, that; that’s a device for holding flowers." I laughed, holding
up the small brass vase that Rayanne had used in decorating the interior
of the open Victrola.
A roar of laughter erupted. In defense of Bro. Joe, who was seated at the
time, the height of the Victrola prevented him from seeing the vase in its
entirety, and thinking it a functional part of the instrument, posed his
question.
Barbara and I felt privileged to provide a special meal for our guests, while
the heartfelt thanks each of them expressed made the hard work of our preparing
for their visit seem lighter than it really was. I did not ask the men if
their stay in Mississippi had opened their eyes to the media's political,
economic, and societal bias of our fair state. Nonetheless, I am certain
they returned to their homes with a positive impression of the people of
Pontotoc.
Houseguest
Gwen Howell Cottrell
Within the past year, I’ve had the opportunity to renew a friendship
with a high school classmate. She was one grade behind me, but we were classmates
in at least one academic subject, possibly more. I knew her as Gwen Howell,
daughter of Rev. and Mrs. Herbert Howell. Gwen was the first daughter born
to Bro. Howell and Miss Coy, and as I recall is the third child in a family
that once consisted of eleven siblings.
Since our graduating PHS in ’60 and ’61, I have seen Gwen on only
a handful of occasions, with the last one being that of her parents’
fiftieth wedding anniversary. I don’t recall the year but it was in
the early 1990’s. In recent weeks, readers may remember seeing an article
or two submitted by Gwen. She shared one article concerning letter writing
and another related to the fifth anniversary of this newsletter.
Gwen seems to be quite taken with my website and has let me know of her enjoyment
in reading several of the
RRN articles.
Through our email correspondence, I learned of her class reunion slated for
the seventh of July. About two months ago, I wrote her and invited her to
stay at our house instead of a motel when she came for the reunion. Though
sincere, I did not really expect her to take up the offer. Barbara and I
were excited when we received Gwen’s reply stating her acceptance.
Gwen indicated her desire to arrive early in order to spend a couple of nights
with us. She wanted the extra time for us to sort of catch up with each other,
and she also wanted to hear more than I had written regarding Barbara’s
new work with Interfaith and Habitat. We assured her she could
stay longer if needed, and as it turned out she spent a third night so that
she would not have to drive to Birmingham after dark. Gwen lives in Atlanta,
and she intended to visit and have lunch with her mother’s sister in
Birmingham on Sunday.
I doubt that we got "caught up" in our sharing of happenings, and I know
there were surely unasked questions about Barbara’s work. However, we
made a lot of headway in sharing experiences and reliving good times and
bad times. After staying up "catching up" until 2 a.m. for a couple of nights,
we now have a better feel for "who Gwen is" and I’m sure she feels the
same way about us. At some point during her stay, Gwen met most of the members
of my family, at least the members that frequently visit us.
I’ll say this for Gwen; she’d make some newspaper a good promotion
and/or circulation manager, for during the first night of the reunion she
told her classmates about this newsletter, and the next night she took them
business cards with my web address. From what she tells me, I’ll be
hearing from several new readers.
After writing the previous paragraph, I received a copy of an email that
Gwen sent to fifteen of her former classmates extolling the virtues of this
newsletter and encouraging them to read it.
Due to the substandard pay for teachers in the Magnolia State, Mississippi
has, in the years since I graduated, lost many a young teacher to the state
of Georgia. Gwen Howell Cottrell was one of those. She is now retired after
32 years of teaching in grades K-3. I have the feeling there are several
hundreds of her former students that are now proud they had Ms. Cottrell
for a teacher. Members of my family learned something from her visit, too,
and can proudly proclaim that Gwen makes a great houseguest.
Worst Vacation
Florida Sunshine
My mother played a role in my "worst vacation." It was an indirect role,
but it was significant nonetheless. A lot of moms have told their children
that they needed to learn to swim before they went swimming. While it sounds
ridiculous, it makes more sense to me than the way my mom phrased it.
"You can’t go swimming until you learn how to swim," she would declare
with the sincerity of a righteous prophet.
The difference is mostly semantic, but Mom’s wording seems to imply
"learning" is required before "trying" is attempted. Mom was afraid of water
and had a lifelong fear of drowning. I think the only thing that worried
her more than the possibility of her drowning was the possibility of one
of her children drowning. So, in the days of childhood when I asked to swim,
a time when all my friends were learning to swim, Mom said no. As a teen
when I would have been allowed to learn how to swim, I was too self-conscious
of my skinny frame and white legs to be seen in a bathing suit. Plus, it
cost money to swim in the public pool, and money for frivolity was something
my dad almost never had.
Family vacations for my family were almost non-existent in my childhood,
and when we went on a vacation it would always be to visit a relative. We
didn’t have any relatives with beachfront property, and, even if we
had, playing in the water would have been disallowed until I learned how
to swim. I may learn to swim before I die, and I may die learning how to
swim. Either way, the learning will probably have to wait until I retire.
Prior to my worst vacation. I had only set foot on a beach one other time,
and I think I had both shoes on then. The year of my worst vacation my children
were in the 13 to 15 year-old age group. My wife is a worshiper of the triune
god, S (sand, surf, and sun). It’s almost like she was touched
by a fairy princess once upon a time and must periodically return to the
3-S god for rejuvenation.
Financially speaking, my family was rising out of an economic slump in the
early eighties, so Barbara thought the time was ripe for a family vacation.
In her mind, there was no better place for a vacation in the continental
U.S. than Destin, FL. She arranged for us to rent a condominium for a week,
and planned to take along my mother and my sister.
Around ten o’clock in the morning after our arrival the prior evening,
I donned a pair of shorts and a collared knit shirt and hit the beach with
the kids. We played paddleball for less than an hour before returning to
our room on the seventh floor, where I spent the rest of the day on the balcony
enjoying the beauty of the Gulf, the beach, and that of the scantily clad
women who were found in great abundance. Because the balcony was shaded from
direct sunlight I did not bother using a sunscreen lotion for my exposed
feet and legs. By late afternoon, my legs and ankles had a soft glow about
them, and within the next hour or so, it was evident I had sunburned.
As a teen, I had spent many hours working outside without a shirt and had
often blistered my shoulders and back. However, the pain associated with
my legs and ankles was excruciating compared to that of my teen years.
That evening and during the next few days, Barbara purchased several different
ointments, lotions, and sprays that were advertised as effective in reducing
the pain of sunburn. None helped. I got more relief from ice packs than anything
else.
We spent seven days in the condo, six of which I suffered with sunburned
legs and ankles. Those six days are remembered as the worst six days of my
life. After the first night (Monday) of my sunburn, I could not walk until
we departed on Saturday. Only then did I make the journey aided by some Darvocets
that Mom had brought along.
While recuperating in the condo, sponge baths kept me clean, but trips to
the toilet were dreaded and had to be planned well in advance. Whenever my
feet were lower than my buttocks the pain in my ankles was intense, so I
had to scoot across the floor to get to the bathroom. Once on the commode,
I had to place my feet across the seat of a chair in front of me in order
that my feet were on the same level as my rear end.
The rest of our group managed to enjoy their vacation in spite of my suffering.
My mother was even photographed on the beach a few feet from the water, but
the part of the vacation Mom most enjoyed was using the coin-operated laundry
to wash and dry all our towels and clothes. Someone snapped a picture of
her doing that, too. Sarah took one of her bad headaches on the day we left,
but Mom wouldn’t give her one of the painkillers because she thought
I might need them.
I have since accompanied my family to the beach on a couple of occasions,
but at no time did I allow any sunlight to fall upon my legs. In addition
to the pictures mentioned above are several shots of my blistered legs and
feet that I keep to remind me of my worst vacation. (Unable to put my hands
on the original story, this is a reconstruction of that remembrance.)
Bodock Beau
Oddly Enough Humor
There are people in this country who seek to ban the ownership of firearms
by private citizens. Such individuals and/or groups should consider the
"tongue-in-cheek" email we received from Vernon Clark:
Guns vs. Doctors... Alarming Statistics
Number of physicians in the US: 700,000.
Accidental deaths caused by physicians per year: 120,000.
Accidental deaths per physician.... 0.171 (U.S. Dept. of Health & Human
Services)
Number of gun owners in the US: 80,000,000.
Number of accidental gun deaths per year (all age groups) 1,500.
Accidental deaths per gun owner 0.0000188 (Benton County News Tribune on
17th of November, 1999).
Statistically, doctors are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous than
gun owners.
"Remember, Not everyone has a gun, but everyone has at least one Doctor."
Please alert your friends to this alarming threat. We must ban doctors.
Police Quotes
"The handcuffs are tight because they're new. They'll stretch out after you
wear them awhile."
"If you run, you'll only go to jail tired."
"So, you don't know how fast you were going. I guess that means I can write
anything I want on the ticket, huh?"
"No sir, we don't have quotas anymore. We used to have quotas, but now we're
allowed to write as many tickets as we want."
"Warning! You want a warning? O.K., I'm warning you not to do that again
or I'll give you another ticket."
"The answer to this last question will determine whether you are drunk or
not. Was Mickey Mouse a cat or dog?"
"Yeah, we have a quota. Two more tickets and my wife gets a toaster oven."
"Just how big were those two beers?
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