RRN Online Volume 441

November 13 '04

Volume 441

Memory Lane The Way It Was In '62

Administration Building - Northwest Traveling to Indianola from Pontotoc and then back several times each month is reason enough to look for alternate routes to break the monotony of seeing the same scenery on every trip. I have tried no less than a dozen routes over the past decade and a half. Whichever route I choose takes roughly the same amount of time, with a span of perhaps twenty to twenty-five minutes separating the fastest and slowest of the journeys. Other than monotony, I sometimes change routes to avoid road construction. A couple of months ago, a section of Highway 7 near Greenwood was closed to through traffic for a couple of weeks, and I didn’t like having to detour via a graveled road, so I avoided what is one of the shortest routes for several weeks.

About three weeks ago I came upon a road resurfacing between Bruce and Coffeeville. On less traveled roads, the Highway Department is fond of "white-top" roadways. White-tops consist of a thin layer of tar placed over the existing roadbed and covered with crushed rock. It takes several weeks before the pebble-sized rocks find a permanent home on the roadbed or become small heap rows as they get pushed aside by tires pressing their counterparts deep into the layer of tar. And, it takes even longer for the heap rows to get knocked down and longer still before vehicles approaching one another don’t spray the other vehicle with small pebbles kicked up by their tires.

A black car driven over a freshly resurfaced white-top road will collect enough white powder on its rear panels to virtually destroy the effects of the most recent wash job. Perhaps, equally obnoxious is hitting a recently white-topped section of roadway under wet conditions. This will coat the sides and rear of most automobiles with a substance that looks like white mud. Therefore, of late, I’ve sought to avoid choosing a route to Indianola that involves getting to Coffeeville via Bruce, but not before messing up a clean car on two consecutive weeks.

This week, I forgot, again, and was almost to Bruce before remembering the shortest route was presently the dirtiest route. To avoid the white-top road, I had two, no three choices, but I shouldn’t count the one that involved driving back to Pontotoc and starting over. Those choices were to drive north to Oxford or head south for Calhoun City. I chose the latter.

It’s been several years since I traveled Highway 9, south of Bruce, through Pittsboro, and on to Calhoun City. But, it brought back memories from the days I sold office equipment in the early 1970s, and some of the landmarks looked familiar. Calhoun City has no highway bypass and traffic flows awkwardly around a court square before fanning out in four or more directions.

A few miles southeast of Calhoun City I faced another choice, to continue along Hwy. 8 to Grenada or reconnect with Hwy. 9 that heads south to Eupora. I opted for Eupora, largely because that route is less congested, but perhaps I wanted to see if much had changed since I was last in Eupora. While I can remember my first time to visit Eupora, I can’t remember the last time I drove through the small town.

Forty-two years ago, I dated a nineteen-year old young woman from Eupora, while we were students at then Northwest Junior College in Senatobia, MS. For the purpose of this article, I’ll use only her first name, Brenda. Ours was along the lines of a May to September romance but actually began in the early spring, then fell apart before fall semester. We may have shared more than one class together, but I can only remember we had the same chemistry class and lab. Whatever chemistry we shared, romantically speaking, was short-lived. But, before she broke off the relationship in mid-summer, I had visited her home twice.

By the time I reached Walthall, which is a few miles north of Eupora, I was pretty far down "memory lane."

"I live on top of the third hill, after you go through Walthall," I can hear her say.

The hills were spaced closer than I remembered them being forty-two years ago, and the location may have been a more distant hill than the third one, but the small "home place" was still standing and is still painted white. I gave no thought to stopping to see who now lives there, but I’m reasonably sure her parents are deceased.

Downtown Eupora, doesn’t look much different today than it did when I dated one of her hometown girls. I turned west on old Hwy 82, giving a quick glance down Dunn Street, Eupora’s principal business district, and followed the old road to where it connects with the new four-lane Hwy. 82.

I don’t remember much about Dunn Street from the day my girlfriend and I walked, shopped, and visited our way up and down the street, but I remember Brenda explaining, "I want to show you off!"

A few weeks after being shown off, I found myself on the auction block of used boyfriends. The suddenness of my rise and fall in the eyes of a brown-eyed lass from Eupora was a shock to my, then fragile, ego. It was not something I got over quickly, but I did get over it, years later.

The two of us attended Ole Miss our junior year, and even had another chemistry lab together. That was also the year James Meridith began classes at The University and broke the color barrier. I dropped out of school at the end of the first semester and stayed out a full year before returning to complete my degree.

I don’t think I saw Brenda after our first semester chemistry lab in 1962, but I know she graduated before I did. She married her high school sweetheart and disappeared from my life. I sometimes wonder whatever became of her, but only when I take the time to drive through Eupora or to take a slow walk down "memory lane."

LIVE STRONG Yellow Wristband

It seems we’ve become a nation of people who are in continual search of a cause to support and a sign or symbol to embrace that demonstrates our commitment. Our country’s flag and the bald eagle may be the best known of the many symbols we use to demonstrate our national pride. Certainly, we saw plenty of Republican elephants and donkeys for Democrats (though in political vernacular, I prefer using jackass to donkey) during this presidential election year. With thousands of American troops deployed in Afghanistan and Iraq, yellow ribbons are having a banner year.

When the North Pontotoc School’s doomed-from-the-start legal battle with the ACLU, concerning school sponsored prayer over the intercom, first began, Religious Freedom yard signs were everywhere, and for a while blue and orange lapel ribbons were the rage among those supporting school prayer at North Pontotoc.

These days, folks wear a variety of ribbons to show support for various causes. Black ribbons help raise AIDS awareness, and pink ribbons support breast cancer awareness. Both red-white-blue ribbons and yellow ribbons honor members of the military. Before the present ribbon craze, veterans were honored by paper poppies that could be pinned to a shirt or ones lapel.

Back when I was a college student, people known as hippies sanctioned a communal lifestyle, marijuana usage, and protested the war in Vietnam as well as the all-encompassing "The Establishment." Their slogan was "Make love, not war." The icon chosen to represent their ideology was the peace symbol, an upside down Y inscribed within a circle.

Perhaps, the hottest and best new idea to hit the market is a bright yellow wristband or bracelet being sold around the world to raise money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation. Lance Armstrong, most will recall, has won the Tour de France for cyclists an unprecedented six times. Lance is a seven-year cancer survivor, and his athleticism has inspired millions. The bracelet looks like a large rubber band, and it is quite stretchable. LIVESTRONG is etched into the surface of the wristband.

Yellow is the color of the jersey worn by the lead cyclist in the Tour de France. Thus, yellow was a natural choice for the wristband concept.

I saw my first yellow LIVESTRONG wristband a couple of months ago. Donnie Schilling, owner of the Sunflower IGA grocery in Hollandale, MS, was wearing one when I chided him.

"You’ll cut the circulation off in your hand, with that rubber band around your wrist."

"No I won’t," he replied, "It’s not tight."

He slipped the wristband off and showed it to me, explaining how the name related to Lance Armstrong. I knew that Donnie rode a bicycle for exercise as well as the enjoyment of riding with other cyclists.

"It helps raise cancer awareness and the proceeds go to cancer research. Plus, you know my mom has cancer?" he shared.

I returned his wristband, better informed than when I first saw it, but I didn’t see another one until my niece Felicia dropped by our house.

"Ya seen one of these?" she quizzed, as she removed the yellow wristband and gave it to me.

I explained that I had seen one and shared where I had seen it and what I knew about it.

"Yeah, everybody’s wearing them," she replied with the confidence of a college senior, and with the faulty logic of a pre-teen who thinks "everybody" means only those in the know or those in a given group.

"My friends asked me who I was showing support for by wearing the bracelet. I told them, ‘My Uncle Wayne.’ You can have that one."

I thanked her for the gift, without realizing she had paid a black market price for the wristband. The official price is $1.00, but I later learned she paid two and one-half times that amount. And, recently, one of the Retail Business Consultants, with whom I work, shared an even higher price.

"None of the bicycle shops in Jackson have any. They’re sold out. We told our son, we’d get him one for Christmas, but a relative spent $18.00 for one and is giving it to him."

As I said earlier, these things are hot. However, if one doesn’t mind a three or four week wait, a bag of ten cost ten dollars on the Lance Armstrong website.

Meanwhile look for the idea to mushroom. Look for black wristbands for AIDS awareness and pink ones for breast cancer awareness.

Reader Response Ribbons & Media Bias

My wife not only proofs the rough drafts of this newsletter, she sometimes "censors" a phrase or paragraph she thinks someone might find offensive. Sure, as editor, I have the final say on censorship, but over the years, I changed more text to comply with Barbara’s suggestions than I’ve stubbornly left unchanged.

In a recent article on "Magnetic Ribbons" she warned, "You’re going to offend somebody," referring to my condemnation of off kilter magnetic ribbons on vehicles.

I received an email from Tami Harrell, whom I don’t think was offended, but Tami did share why her magnetic ribbons were horizontal.

"I have a thought to add to the yellow ribbon display. I have mine sideways to mimic the "Icthus" or "fish" symbol used to represent Christians. My sideways ribbon says I am a Christian supporter of the troops."

I admit not previously considering the similarity of a sideways ribbon and the fish symbol, but as I explained to Tami, the Icthus faces left, and, in order to have the text upright on the sideways ribbon, the portion of the ribbon equated with the fish’s head must point to the right.

I encountered a second subscriber on the parking lot at Piggly Wiggly over the weekend. Virginia Dillard had a "Pray For Our Troops" ribbon on the trunk, and it was turned sideways. Virginia explained that the metallic part of her car’s trunk lid did not have enough room to display the ribbon upright.

Terry Albonetti and I were leaving the office at the same time last Wednesday. Our cars were parked close to each other, and, as he was about to put his computer inside the trunk, I noticed he had a sideways patriotic ribbon.

"Take a look at the ribbon on that black car over there," I barked, motioning toward my car. "That’s the way a ribbon should be turned."

"I know, and I usually do, but my son keeps turning it sideways," he replied. "I’ll fix it when I wash my car."

"Good," I thought, "at least somebody’s listening."

Changing the world for the better is a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.

On a different note, retired minister, Gerard Howell, found reason to disagree with my comments concerning biased reporting by National Public Radio in the article, "Political Depression."

Gerard wrote, "I submit to you that NPR is more balanced in its reporting than Fox Network or CNN or any radio talk show (and Paul Harvey for that matter, though I enjoy listening to him)."

"There was a time when I was very uncomfortable with NPR’s reporting (Reagan years). There is no doubt about its leanings, but because it is audience driven it had to moderate toward the center and had to present more from the other side. I expect it to live on the edge, not to reinforce uninformed opinions, but to help us think. Yes Daniel Schorr is liberal and possibly the only one whose position is decidedly clear. He is as biased in his reporting as Rush Limbaugh. Cokie Roberts is generally balanced in her presentation."

"I would hate to think that the future will be shaped by decidedly conservative or liberal talk show host who are only interested in propaganda not truth or dialogue. Like you, I have withdrawn from listening because ALL news sources seem to be more driven by the popularity or unpopularity of the President than finding and reporting the news as objectively as possible. And, no one is listening to the other on the panel shows. Where is civility and rationality when we need it?"

"Like you, I’m glad the election is over. Like Bill Mahar, the solace I take is that Bush will finally have to clean up one of his messes. I wish him well. Long memories and deep history will mean decades before we get beyond the Iraq debacle. Bush took his eyes off of global terrorism and rejected global participation for a mission in Iraq. Now global terrorism has new vitality and we are more separated from the rest of the world than prior to WWI when means of travel separated us."

Lamar Carter sent the following quote, attributed to H. L. Mencken (1880-1956), "As democracy is perfected, the office of the president represents, more and more closely the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."

Bodock Beau Let Him Dig

This one might have worked better at Halloween, but it came a little late for that issue.

An old man and woman were married for many years, even though they hated each other. When they had a confrontation, screaming and yelling could be heard deep into the night.

The old man would shout, "When I die, I will dig my way up and out of the grave and come back and haunt you for the rest of your life!"

Neighbors feared him. They believed he practiced black magic because of the many strange occurrences that took place in their neighborhood. The old man liked the fact that he was feared. To everyone's relief, he died of a heart attack when he was 68. His wife had a closed casket at the wake. After the burial, she went straight to the local bar and began to party as if there was no tomorrow.

Her neighbors, concerned for her safety, asked, "Aren't you afraid that he may indeed be able to dig his way up and out of the grave and come back to haunt you for the rest of your life?"

The wife put down her drink and said, "Let him dig. I had him buried upside down."

Contributed by Ken Gaillard

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