RRN Online Volume 319

August 03 '02

Volume 319

My Thanks For The Help Of Others

If you missed the fish K.C. & The Band fry last weekend, then there are those who’ll tell you that you missed the best Ridge Rider News celebration ever. I can’t vouch for it being the best, but my body can attest to it being the most exhausting such celebration this scribe has experienced.

As I was borrowing patio furniture from the home of Danny and Linda Weatherly, two different people posed a question I had not considered. Shirley McCord and husband Robert were working in their yard when Jason and I pulled into the Weatherly’s driveway.

In explaining to Shirley what I was doing at her neighbor’s house, she asked, "Well, Wayne, is it worth it?" referring to all the hard work that goes into planning and conducting a backyard event for more than one hundred guests.

I admit to being at a loss for words at the moment but managed to state that I felt it was worth the Herculean effort required to pull it off. While Jason and I were still piling the patio furniture into the pickup truck, Danny Weatherly drove up.

"Stop thieves," he exclaimed with a gleaming grin.

After exchanging pleasantries, he too asked, "Is it worth it?" and while I had just answered the question for Shirley, I found the answer difficult to repeat.

To be honest, I can’t say the effort is worth the result until it’s all over. There may soon come a day when I conclude it’s not worth it, but for the present, I believe it is worth the hard work and expense. The satisfaction I derive comes from seeing others enjoying themselves more than any sense of accomplishment on my part. The last few summer RRN celebrations required the help of a number of people.

This year, Rayanne and Anson Adams played a major role. Anson lined up the entertainment, made the coleslaw, loaned us the urns for the sweet and unsweetened tea, helped with a last minute run for more ice, and pretty much anything that Rayanne called for him to do. Rayanne spent a day or two rearranging and redecorating several of our rooms and helped Sara Sue prepare the fruit boats for the fish fry.

Jason was indispensable in helping haul and setup patio furniture, additional tables and chairs for seating under the two canopies, and assisting Dustin Parker and me in erecting the backyard canopies. He also digitally recorded the band’s performance and has it available on a CD.

Since the band members (Andy Ratliff, Tim Hankins, John Riley, and Tom Safel) do not, themselves, constitute a band but play with different bands, Jason has dubbed them as "The Ridge Rider Boys." I think he borrowed the idea from the makeshift band "Soggy Bottom Boys" in O Brother Where Art Thou.

Barbara and Rayanne purchased and arranged additional flora for the backyard and deck area and were in charge of setup and supply of the serving tables. Sarah was in charge of dispensing name badges to arriving guests but earlier had spent a more than few hours monogramming aprons for the cooks. In case you missed seeing her labor of love, the five cooks wore white aprons with "Ridge Rider News" monogrammed in red, with a large cluster of grapes below, and finished with the boast, "Not Your Average Cook." I thought they were almost too nice to dirty up with fish breading and grease. For their cooking efforts, each of the cooks was allowed to keep his apron.

Raymond Montgomery and John Schubert donated their lawn care services edging and trimming the front lawn to perfection. Jim Hess and Lee Gordon helped Jason and me with tables and chairs borrowed from FBC, while Tommy Patterson, Ken Prewett, and Neal Huskison assisted us in returning them after the fish fry. Bill Jett, Joel Hale, Geoff Purser, and Tommy Patterson assisted Jim Hess in preparing all the fried foods.

At least a dozen folks brought homemade ice cream and/or a dessert, but I don’t have a list of names of everyone who did so. I tasted several items and they were all quite delicious.

Attendance this year was down approximately ten percent from a year ago, even though invitations were up by forty percent. It’s hard to say why more people did not make the RRN celebration a priority, and I won’t venture a guess. However, the band, along with their family members almost took up the slack in our guest list, and all together, they made up twenty of the names of those in attendance.

Due to our haste in creating name badges on the computer for last minute arrivals, we inadvertently overwrote a number of names and were not able to get an exact head count. However, as my family reviewed the guest list and tried to recall who had attended, we concluded there were 120 people at the celebration.

I heard plenty of comments on the food and the band’s audience applauded enthusiastically enough to convince me everyone enjoyed the Bluegrass sound. Neal Huskison comment that he’d "as soon eat the coleslaw as ice cream," spoke volumes about the popular southern side dish. The 2½ gallons of coleslaw was expected to feed up to 150, but the container was scraped clean by the last person in line.

Several folks expressed their belief that the fish were better this year. Andy Ratliff commented that the catfish were the best he had ever eaten, and since he’s kin to my son-in-law, I figure he’s eaten his share. I don’t know if the fish were better or if folks were just plain hungrier, but of the sixty pounds of filets that were fried, less than five pounds were left on the table. Personally, I didn’t think the hushpuppies were quite up to par, but Rayanne insisted the several she had were delicious.

I take no credit for the meal, other than to say I paid for it. Jim Hess should be thanked by everyone who attended the celebration. Without his willingness to be in charge of the fish fry in the absence of Lee Gordon, the whole affair might not have taken place.

I would thank my photographer, but he never showed up. The photo of Katherine Adams "diaper dancing" in front of the band, at the beginning of this article, was taken by Jerry Young and is the only party picture I have at the time of this writing.

To all who came to help celebrate the sixth anniversary of this newsletter, thank you, as well.

Highs And Lows Emotional Roller Coaster

The day after I mailed invitations to ninety-six people, Lee Gordon phoned me in Indianola. He was lucky to find me there. My job has kept me out of the office more than usual this year, but there are still certain portions of my job that require a trip to the Delta.

"Wayne, this is Lee," is probably not exactly how he began, but it’s close. "I don’t want to make your day, but I’m not going to be able to cook for you."

I think I laughed at first, believing he was pulling my leg. Lee is something of a joker, but somehow I felt he really was not joking. Perhaps, it was the knot in my stomach that first warned me he might be serious.

"You’re not serious," I responded.

"I’m afraid so," Lee replied. "Our pulpit committee is bringing in a prospective pastor, and I have to be there the Saturday afternoon of your fish fry."

About then I remembered something Lee had told me three months or so earlier, when he, Jim Hess, and I set the date of the cookout as July 27^th.

"There is one thing," Lee had stated. "We’ve been looking for a preacher for over a year. If they should bring somebody in, then I’ll definitely have to be there."

Detecting some mild anxiety on my part, he promised, "Don’t worry. Jim can handle it," referring to our mutual friend, Jim Hess.

I ran the math and knew that with the passing of each week the odds of the search committee locating a pastor improved, but I figured the odds were in my favor.

No, I didn’t actually figure the odds, but I remember thinking, "What’re the odds of that happening?"

It was after I hung up the phone that I really began to worry. I was depending on Lee to supervise the frying of the fish. He’s done enough fish fries that he probably could do one in his sleep. He’s as comfortable standing over a bubbling cauldron of hot oil, hushpuppies, and fish as I am watching hamburgers sizzle on a gas grill. With all the things that require my time and energy in getting everything ready for a backyard fish fry, I don’t have the stamina (not to mention the expertise) to assume the frying chores, and have for the past two years relied upon Lee and Jim to handle the fish cooking.

Lee’s call came in the morning, so I had the rest of the day to consider what to do before discussing my ideas with Barbara. I thought about canceling the party altogether, but I knew a lot of folks would be disappointed. I gave some thought to switching the menu from fish to hamburger. I even considered delaying the cookout until October. None of the alternatives felt right, but neither did I at the time.

Lee assured me he would still carry out all the parts of his commitment, including purchasing the fish and peanut oil, bringing most of the gas cookers to Pontotoc, and then helping cut up the vegetables for the hushpuppies. That might be enough to belay the fear of failure for some folks, but I knew that for the hushpuppies to taste like Lee’s hushpuppies, we’d need more than the recipe. There’s an art to getting the right consistency or viscosity, not to mention spooning and frying them.

Lee and Jim are both Ministers of Music. Last year we persuaded two other Ministers of Music, serving respectively First Baptist and West Heights, to help with the cooking chores. I was counting on their previous experience to help fill the void left by Lee’s absence. When I contacted each of them, one stated his willingness to assist, but the other remembered that a visiting youth choir would be performing at his church the night of the fish fry and he would not be able to attend.

In the days that followed Lee’s distressing phone call, I experienced numerous highs and lows, emotionally speaking. It seemed that about every other day, someone would let Barbara or me know they were looking forward to the fish fry, and on the days in between, someone else would inform us they couldn’t come to our celebration. As the date of the fish fry drew closer, the lows seemed to come more frequently. Some of them were work related, some were not, but just whenever it seemed life was about to level out again another low would come.

I’ve experienced enough disappointment in my life to develop a pretty strong shield of resistance with respect to coping skills involving disappointment, but when it comes to what has become an annual gathering of RRN readers and friends, I’m somewhat sensitive to rejection. I know that people do things for a reason, and mostly they commit to the things that are important to them. I don’t suppose anyone finds that remark an astonishing revelation, as most folks have observed this, and the ones that haven’t observed it have heard about it. When I mentioned to my family members my attitude toward persons who declined our invitation, they laughed at my childishness.

When I confided my disappointment with a friend in the ministry, he too laughed and exclaimed, "You should hear the excuses I get!"

He warned that I should not take rejection personally. I also got a half-hour "lecture" that summarized a conference he had attended on generational differences and how those differences related to problems in the church, trends in worship and music, and how generational differences were reflected in my situation.

It seems I belong to a generation of folks who are generous with their time, talent, and money, but the generation immediately following mine, the one called "Baby Boomers" is characterized by selfishness instead of generosity. Theirs is a "me thing," expecting to have their needs fulfilled while caring little of the needs of others.

The youth of today respond to visual stimulation more so than any preceding generation. Therefore, in music and worship and life in general, each generation is seeking something different. (Give me some time, and I’ll address some of the topics we discussed.) Most of what he shared, I already knew, and while it helped me to understand my problem a little better, it did little to salve my wounded ego.

But, it’s like he said, "The only thing you can control is your attitude."

Again, I knew that, and I also knew that my attitude was not going to get better overnight.

In fact, it had suffered greatly a few days before, when the other Minister of Music, mentioned above, informed me that, due to a last minute change of plans, he would not be helping at the fish fry, either. I’m certain that the emotional roller coaster I had been riding for the prior two weeks played a major role in my reaction to the disappointing news. Suffice it to say, I was not pleased at the time, but have since lifted my vow of vengeance.

The following Sunday, Ken Hester, pastor of FBC Pontotoc, spoke to me as I left church on Sunday morning, "I understand you’re short of cooks. I’ll be glad to help if you need me."

I thanked him for the offer but jokingly explained I’d rather not use "local celebrities."

Just as quickly came his response, "If I see any local celebrities, I’ll let them know."

I thanked him for his concern, but explained that I had found five persons willing to help and that should more than fill the vacancies created by three Ministers of Music who for various reasons would not be able to help. I figured the job could be handled easily by Jim Hess, Joel Hale, Tommy Patterson, Geoff Purser, Dustin Parker, and Jason Carter.

Among the highs I experienced leading up to the fish fry were confirmations that Rick Greene and Leslie Townsend, each of the greater Jackson, MS area planned to attend the fish fry. Likewise, the note sent by Hortense Wakefield of Caledonia was similarly received, as was Bill Jett of Jackson phoning to let me know he would be attending. I was overjoyed by their commitments. While I truly appreciated every person who attended our celebration of July 27^th, the folks who drove "a fur piece" have a special place in my heart.

Bodock Beau Husband Shopping Center

I don’t wish to sound chauvinistic or sexist, but most of us recognize that the fairer sex are indeed mysterious and downright difficult to understand. Here’s a perfect example:

Recently a "Husband Shopping Center" opened in Dallas, where women can go to choose a husband from among many men. It was laid out on five floor levels, with the men increasing in positive attributes as you ascended the floors.

The only rule was, once you opened the door to any floor, you must choose a man from that floor, and if you went up a floor, you couldn't go back down except to leave the place never to return.

A couple of girlfriends go to the place to find men. First floor, the door had a sign saying "These men have jobs and love kids."

The women read the sign and say, "Well, that's better than not having jobs, or not loving kids, but I wonder what's further up?" So up they go.

Second floor says "These men have high paying jobs, love kids, and are extremely good looking." Hmmm, say the girls. But, I wonder what's further up?

Third floor: "These men have high paying jobs, are extremely good looking, love kids and help with the housework." Wow! say the women. Very tempting, BUT, there's more further up! And up they go.

Fourth floor: "These men have high paying jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak."

Oh, mercy me. But just think! What must be awaiting us further on! So up to the fifth floor they go. The sign on that door said, "This floor is empty and exists only to prove that women are impossible to
please. Goodbye."

Submitted by Lisa B. Rolik

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