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The ADVANCE, August 18, 2021 /Page 5A
OPINIONS
“I honor the man who is willing to sink
Half his repute for the freedom to think,
And when he has thought, be his cause strong or weak,
Will risk t’other half for the freedom to speak.”
—James Russell Lowell
editorials
Doomed
: rom the Porch
By Amber Nagle
It was one of
those hot, humid,
hazy Georgia af
ternoons. The me
teorologist on the
morning news had
warned of pop-up
thundershowers after 2 p.m.
I walked out onto the porch around 3
o’clock and noticed that the air was notice
ably heavy, and it was hard to take a deep
breath. Clouds were building in the skies
beyond our treetops.
Around 4 o’clock that afternoon, our
neighbors in the distance decided to walk
from their back porch to their barn when
they felt it.
“Electricity moved through both of us,”
Ashley told me a few days later. “It didn’t
knock us to the ground, but it stunned us,
and we were messed up for a while.”
Our neighbors had been struck by light
ning before anyone in our community even
knew that a storm was right on top of us.
Lightning probably struck a nearby tree or
structure and the energy traveled outward
and up through their bodies — a phenom
enon known as ground current.
Lightning is one of the leading causes of
weather-related fatalities. It kills an average
of 49 people each year in the US and injures
hundreds more. Some survivors have life
long neurological damage from being struck
by lightning. Others suffer hearing loss.
Our neighbors are lucky. They survived.
I had a great-aunt who was not so lucky.
In 1929, two of my great-aunts, two-
great uncles, and a cousin traveled to New
Jersey for the summer to find work. They
lived in a brownstone in Camden, worked
during the days, and sent money home to
their parents here and there. The boys found
work at Radio Corporation of America
(better known as RCA) and a drug store. In
August that year, my Great-aunt Amy went
to work in the New Jersey peach fields.
While Amy and the other pickers were
in the field one day, a thunderstorm blew up
fast and everyone in the field took shelter
under a nearby tree. Lightning struck the
tree. Amy died instantly. She was only twen
ty-one years old and had an entire lifetime
ahead of her. The family was devastated. Ev
eryone mourned.
My Great-aunt Beauty took care of
the many arrangements necessary to send
Amy’s lifeless body back to Georgia. The
family buried her in the Sardis Baptist
Church Cemetery in Wheeler County.
As a child, I heard the story of my great-
aunt’s death many times, and as a result, I
have always been fearful and overly cau
tious when it comes to thunder and light
ning storms. If I’m outside and notice a gray
cloud in the sky or hear a distant rumble,
I quickly move indoors. The odds of being
struck by lightning in a given year are only
around 1 in 500,000, but why take a chance
when it can kill you “deader than dead?”
Other than lightning, have you ever
paused and pondered the many ways Moth
er Nature lashes out at us? We, as humans,
are basically walking around this world with
targets on our backs.
A 7.2 magnitude earthquake in Haiti
killed hundreds of people this week. An
unknown number are still missing in the
rubble.
Every year, we watch earth hurl hur
ricane after hurricane toward the US like a
bowling ball rolling down the alley trying to
knock down as many pins as possible.
Wildfires are ravaging the West right
now. Every evening, the news shows people
fleeing amid flames as high as treetops —
like they are escaping Hell itself. Thousands
of acres (land and structures) have been de
stroyed out there this year.
And volcanoes threaten human life,
too. The petrified people of Pompeii, Italy,
learned that lesson the hard way.
And if all of that isn’t alarming enough,
we’ve been dealing with a deadly virus the
last two years. It’s killed over 4 million folks
worldwide, and it’s just one virus of many.
World renowned astrophysicist Neil
deGrasse Tyson often says that the earth is
a deadly place, and at every opportunity, it
is trying to kill us. He says this half in jest,
and half in truth, citing sinkholes, tsunamis,
sharks, bears, viruses, etc. I think he’s right.
It does seem that the earth is out to get us
these days — as if we are all doomed.
As for our neighbors, they said the
lightning strike incident was a wake up call
for them.
“Nothing makes you appreciate life
like a near-death experience,” Ashley said.
“We’re so happy to be alive.”
New or New-To-Me Shoes
Off the streets.
As I write this to
you, most of the kids
are off the streets,
out of the houses
and back to school.
In my memory,
the days when
school fired up after
the summer break
were cooler. There
were football nights when dew formed on
the grass.
The benefit of playing on the wet field
was that you looked dirtier, like you were
doing something.
Coach Kinsaul pointed out guys on
the field still walking around in a clean
uniform. “They haven't been on the
ground yet,” he'd bellow, among other
things.
True, you can't do much as a defensive
player in a football game and stay clean.
There were as many brands of jeans as
there were stores, and my mom bought a
lot of my school clothes, “mail ordered.”
There were subtleties about jeans she
just didn't get.
As I was entering the sixth grade, a
string-wrapped package came containing
two pair of jeans that were the right color
of blue and the size was about right, but
they felt a little funny when I tried them
on.
Mom just didn't understand why I'd
object to wearing jeans with the zipper on
the left side.
The start of school ended barefoot
days. We all had to get accustomed to
wearing shoes again, whether they were
new or “new to me.”
I've worn hand-me-down shoes in the
correct size that felt like someone else's
shoes.
A guy told me that he could identify
the owner of a shoe by the imprint the
foot made inside.
Mr. Pierce owned a shoe shop and
shine stand on South Main in Sapulpa,
OK.
Every morning there was a pile of un
identified shoes at his door.
After having coffee and a “Texas
doughnut” (size of a dinner plate), I
watched him sort through the shoes,
marking the required repair with a piece of
chalk.
None of the shoes included the name
of the owner.
“These belong to Mr. Creekmore Wal
lace, the lawyer; these are Mr. Blane's
shoes, he's an accountant.”
Mr. Pierce ran away from his Cleve
land, Ohio, home at age twelve and headed
to Sapulpa during the Oklahoma oil
boom. He got job in a “tonsorial parlor,”
another name for a barber shop.
He shined shoes and ran errands for
the prostitutes, who couldn't come out
during the day except for Tuesdays.
Saving every penny of his tips from
prostitutes, he bought that barber shop
within a few years and installed a row of
shower stalls for the guys working the oil
field.
“Oil-field-hands” wanted to get clean
and those shower stalls were my retire
ment,” he said.
At seventy something years old, when
I met him, he had the shoe shop as an ex
cuse to get out of the house.
He was the most interesting man I
ever knew.
joenphillips@yahoo.com
By Joe Phillips
Dear Me
Skeeter Skates and gang tired
of political commentary
While try
ing to figure
out whether to
dangle my par
ticiple in this
hot weather or
work up a sweat
and split an in
finitive, the
phone rang. It
was Skeeter
Skates, propri
etor of Skeeter Skates Tree Stump
Removal and Plow Repair in Ryo,
Georgia, and a charter member of the
Ryo Morning Coffee Club in Ryo,
Georgia.
If you are not familiar with the
Ryo Morning Coffee Club, it is com
posed of Skeeter Skates, who func
tions as the group’s facilitator; Wall
eye, who runs the bait shop in Red
Bud; Booger Bledsoe, who operates a
roadside vegetable stand over on State
Route 53; and Uncle Coot, recently
retired after a long and distinguished
career in the porta potty transporta
tion industry.
“We’ve got a question,” Skeeter
said. “How come you newspaper boys
and them TV yakkers are always talk
ing about politics? Ain’t there any
thing else going on in the world? Can’t
you find something good to talk about
for a change?” Actually, that was three
questions, not one, but you don’t in
terrupt the man when he is on a roll.
Skeeter continued, “What you
need to know is that most folks are
tired of hearing about that oT orange
haired boy from New York City who
ain’t president anymore and that new
voting law in Georgia that the folks
who are raising cane about it, haven’t
even read. Mostly overpaid actors and
ballplayers. I can’t speak for every
body in Ryo, but I know me and my
colleagues in the Morning Coffee
Club think you need to write about
something else.”
I told Skeeter that I was ahead of
him. I don’t talk about either one of
those subjects much anymore because
it gets me a lot of cranky mail accusing
me of being a liberal weenie or a red
neck. Sometimes in the same column.
I said I decided to talk about some
thing less controversial like the state
of organized religion. I cited the power
struggle between the bishop of the
North Georgia Methodist Conference
and the largest church in the confer
ence, Mt. Bethel United Methodist in
Cobb County. In short, the bishop
wants to move the pastor to another
post, and the pastor and his congre
gants disagree and are talking about
disaffiliating with the Methodist
Church.
I suggested that as Christians,
both parties should ask themselves
what would Jesus do in a situation like
this? One reader called that idea “silly”
and thought I was suggesting Christ
sit down with Satan and say, “Hey
fella, let’s just cool it and work things
out.” I don’t think Christ talks that
way but, hey, that is not a bad idea. It’s
better than what is happening now.
Skeeter said maybe that would
teach me not to opine on religion. Bi
ble thumpers aren’t much on turning
By Dick Yarbrough
the other cheek and forgiveness. I
wish he had told me that earlier.
If I can’t write about politics and
religion, what’s left? Walleye sug
gested I let you all know about the es-
oterica of raising red wrigglers. That’s
bait shop talk for worms. He says if
you put the creatures in rabbit ma
nure, they will fatten up a lot quicker.
Fish like fat worms. I told Walleye I
would file that away for future consid
eration, but I think I have told you all
you want to know on that subject.
Booger Bledsoe said that he was
doing a brisk business in cantaloupes
and apples and that broccoli would be
available shortly. I didn’t tell Booger,
but I will talk about Christ palavering
with Satan before I will mention any
thing having to do with broccoli.
Uncle Coot said he had some in
teresting and entertaining stories he
could share about the dynamic porta
potty transportation industry. With
all due respect, I will try to get to
those right after I’ve completely cov
ered the stolen election, voting rights,
red wrigglers, Christ and Satan and
broccoli.
Skeeter said he hoped the input
from the group was instructive and
would give me something to think
about. In the meantime, he had a
Dosko 721cc Kohler Electric Start
Stump Grinder waiting for a 12-volt
battery that wasn’t going to install it
self. That meant this conversation was
over.
I always appreciate hearing from
Skeeter Skates and the other members
of the Ryo Morning Coffee Club and,
as always, I will seriously consider
their advice and counsel as I do with
all my fans. That is after I have de
cided whether to dangle my participle
or split an infinitive. Which begs the
question: Hey, what would Jesus do?
You can reach Dick Yarbrough at
dick@dickyarbrough.com; at P.O. Box
725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139 or on
Facebook at www.facebook.com/
dickyarb.
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