Page 4A
The Braselton News
Wednesday, November 30, 2022
Opinion
The break he won’t fix
My nose points
to my left (your
right), and that’s
why I play guitar.
Well, in a crooked
way, I guess, kind
of like my nose. I
took an elbow in
ninth grade bas
ketball, shatter
ing my nose and
requiring surgery.
The doctors said
it was broken in
nine places and that it
needed a second surgery.
Nope! I wasn’t going
through that again. Any
one who has had their
nose packed for a week
can understand why.
My mother cried as she
watched them “unpack”
my nose. It ranks as one
of the worst experiences
I’ve had.
Anyway, fearing el
bows, I laid out of basket
ball my tenth grade year.
And then by my junior
year, I wanted to give it
another shot. I went to
basketball tryouts at First
Presbyterian Day School
in Macon. I was also a
golfer, far better at that
than basketball. There
was a club that wasn’t
too expensive at the time,
and I spent much of my
childhood walking the
hills of River
side Country
Club, dreaming
of a pro career.
Coach Mac,
who was both
the basketball
and the golf
coach, waited
for me outside
of the gym one
day as I walked
up after parking
my silver, 1981
Cutlass Supreme with a
V-8. I doubt I’ll ever own
another car with that sort
of power.
“Zach, I got some good
news and some bad news;
which do you want first?”
Always the bad, right?
Always take the bad first.
It’s the only point of the
conversation, the delivery
of something you don’t
want to hear. Just get it
over with.
“The bad.”
“I gotta’ cut you,” he
said.
“What’s the good
news?” I asked.
“It’s a great day for
golf,” he said, with the
good news ringing hollow
like it always does after
the bad news comes first.
The team went on to
capture the GISA state
championship that year,
with my best friend.
Dean Bright, playing
point guard and absolute
ly killing it on the court.
He was so good. And in
all honesty, I probably
wasn’t good enough to be
on that team. I was only
good at basketball when
I could be alone on the
court shooting threes. I
was a decent shot at the
time. Nothing else.
Around that time, I re
ally needed a pick me up.
My confidence was down.
I was getting a sneaking
suspicion that I wasn’t
going to be battling Greg
Norman in the Masters. I
figured I’d take a chance.
I asked a girl a grade
above me to the Home
coming dance. She was
out of my league, and I
nervously asked her to go
with me as I stood by her
car window as she sat in
her car. She said “yes,”
which came as a shock.
I remember buying a
sweater for the dance that
was simply disastrous.
Why did I pick that one?
At the dance, it seemed
apparent to me that she
had just been nice and
probably afraid to say
“No” and hurt my feel
ings. Our dances back
then sometimes had a
live band. We had the
Piedmont Cooks playing
cover songs of all sorts
of hits that night in the
school gym. And as we
slow-danced to “Knock
ing on Heaven’s Door,”
as the guitarist soloed on
stage, Susan said some
thing about how girls
would melt in my arms if
I could play like that.
It seems like the chees-
iest of scenes now. It
makes me chuckle. But
it sure did the trick. My
crooked nose, my cut bas
ketball season, my wan
ing golf dreams, my mis
guided belief that a girl
may melt in my arms if I
could learn the Pentaton
ic scale — these things
collided to give me a new
drive. I got a cheap, little
Gorilla amplifier, and my
parents got me a cheap
Epiphone electric guitar,
a Les Paul knockoff, that
couldn’t stay in tune. And
I tormented my little sis
ter and my parents with
constant cacophony for
nights on end, trying to
learn bar chords and the
fretboard. I took some
lessons. I got together and
played with a friend, who
was much better on drums
than I was at guitar.
Ultimately. I played off
and on in bands until my
daughter was born when I
was 32. And then sched
uling became too much
between guys with in
creasing family and work
obligations. So we quit
getting together.
But I’ve kept making
music over the years on
my own and sometimes
with my friend, Alex.
It’s simply a hobby. I
have zero desire to play
in front of anyone now.
I don’t want to do that
unless I’m with some
one else on stage, and I
wouldn’t want to do that
unless we had spent an
exhaustive amount of
time actually making it
really good. Basically. I
wouldn’t want to show up
in front of someone un
less I knew it rocked. And
well, that’s not easy. Now,
I never pick up a guitar in
front of others, because
I don’t know a bunch of
tunes. And it’s not like
that for me. I simply like
to be alone and compose
and record songs.
So I have Logic on my
computer. And I can form
a full band. I can put ar
tificial drums down, then
real base, guitar, vocals,
whatever I want. The
technology is ridiculously
good now. And if you’re
not worried with being
heard, you can simply be
a tinkerer, like me, sort of
like someone who just en
joys tinkering with a car,
but with me it’s sound.
This is a life-long com
panion for me, this musi
cal joy. When I get free
time, this is where I tend
to go.
And when I look in
the mirror at my crook
ed nose, I’m reminded of
how it started.
I took an elbow. I took
a chance. I didn’t get the
girl. I didn’t make the
team. But I picked up a
guitar, and I made my sis
ter mad. I came to music
in a crooked way.
Yes, that’s a man with a
break he won’t fix.
OK, that’s not a song,
but it sounds kind of like
lyrics to me. Maybe I’ll
go tinkering.
And if you’re thinking
about a new hobby, give
it a chance. Sometimes
they pay off for years to
come, and maybe you
won’t have to break your
beak to get there.
Zach Mitcham is editor
of The Madison Coun
ty Journal. He can be
reached at zach@main-
streetnews.com.
zach
mitcham
Friends
Each year at
Thanksgiving
there is much to
be thankful for,
including friends
who cross your
path during the
year. It may have
been a brief ses
sion or encoun
ter, but you are
moved to thank
them for making
your day along
the way.
Such as Dennis Hale,
a man of multiple talents
when it comes to bringing
about home improvement.
For starters, he can paint
with the best. He and his
grandson Kevan Tyler are
also excellent raconteurs,
especially when the con
versation has to do with
hunting and fishing. Kev
an was able to pet a new
born fawn, still on wob
bly legs, which showed
up in our yard in early
fall.
Ours is a house
built long ago
which means
when it ages, it
needs occasional
“fixing.” When it
needed air con
ditioning rehab,
it was Superior
Air which came
to our rescue,
led by Josh Cal
laway, whose
affinity for the
Bulldogs is over the top.
He brought along Will
Beeland and Zachary
Frankel to install new
equipment which has left
us cool when it is hot and
warm when it is cold,
like last weekend. Warm
thanks for these passion
ate Dawgs who do their
work with a professional
touch which made us hap
py to have them upgrade
our quarters.
Lee Epting, who has
been catering meals in
Athens for over three de
cades, still has that flair
for service and makes
guests swoon to good
cooking in a festive at
mosphere. Lee’s event
manager. Kemp Jones, is
seasoned and efficient,
and his event coordinator,
Bethany Nanan is a savvy
planner who connected
the hostess with Su-Lin
Florals for a botanical
touch which put guests
in a smiling mood from
cocktail hour until the
party ended.
We don’t dig in the dirt,
but Laci Lanier, Director
of Landscaping for Lawn
Maintenance of Athens,
manages that for us. She
could make a barnyard
look like a floral garden.
When you host a social
outing and need bartend
ing help, you can do no
better than Mildred Mo
ses, Bernadette Jacques,
Michele Crawford, and
Margaret Lumpkin — a
Big Four of engaging
commitment, who keep
any social at high level
with their excellent ser
vice.
You always say. “well
done,” when you engage
John Carter and Wallace
Stevens of the Georgian
Press for printing needs.
And a high five for them
for a connection with
Allyn Jenkins whose ex
pertise is layout and de
sign.
It is always nice to hear
from George Harwood,
a retired English teach
er who loves country
idioms. He often sends
along humor that is clean
and inspirational. Like
this one from former Au
burn coach Sonny Smith
who once said, “I was so
poor (growing up) that I
couldn’t pay attention.”
Any pilot, who knows
what he is doing and
never fails to honor his
checklists, is my favorite
pilot. That is why I am
very comfortable flying
with Chris Davis of Bo
gart. He is a nice guy on
top of that and a fun con
versationalist.
Bill Gilmore has come
to the rescue several times
when an assist is needed
for a driver to pick up a
VIP visitor at the Atlan
ta Airport. He and his
wife, Karen, got the high
est marks from Bill and
Nicki Hancock on a trip
to Athens to speak. Bill
Hancock heads up the
College Football Playoff
Committee.
If you are the worst
when it comes to tech
nology, which is the case
with this typist, it is great
to have Cameron Forshee
waiting in the wings to
make a sick computer
smile.
A generous high five
for Lorena Elena Rosales
for providing a personal
touch to our environment
which brightens our day
every week of the year.
Another friend in touch
with technology is Dayne
Young. When there is a
need to record a sound
bite from time to time, his
patience and his expertise
makes the unwashed mar
vel at what he can do.
Tracey Collins has a
hectic routine as Assis
tant Service Manager at
Heyward Allen Motor
Company but is always
smiling no matter the de
mands of her job. Nobody
underscores customer sat
isfaction more than this
native of Social Circle
who recently introduced
me to Denny Seymour,
a Royston native, new to
the Heyward Allen team.
Thanks to Tracy, Den
ny. and all of the above
for making our day along
the way in 2022.
Loran Smith is a UGA
football radio person
ality and columnist for
Mainstreet News.
t
loran
smith
The photo and the Bible
It happened 15
years ago yet the
memory sticks
to me like cot
ton candy to a
child’s hand.
I still puzzle
over it.
Paducah, Ken
tucky, was a stop
on a Mississippi
riverboat cruise
for which I had
been hired as a storyteller.
When the boat docked, I
strolled down the pictur
esque streets. I bought a
skirt that I cherished for
years and visited the quilt
museum.
There were several an
tique shops, all waiting
for riverboat customers. I
sauntered into one. On a
counter, in the center of a
store with red brick walls
and ancient wood floors, I
picked up an 8x10 picture
frame. It held a photo of a
gorgeous, young woman.
Her light brown hair
was teased to perfection,
her cheeks were rosy, and
she wore a dark blue vel
vet drape which wrapped
her shoulders exposing
a swan-like neck and a
dewy decollete.
I studied it,
carefully. How
would a photo
like this wind up
for sale? “It must
be a commercial
photo that came
with the frame,”
I thought. Need
ing to convince
myself of that, I
slid off the back
and took out the
photo.
It was heavy stock pa
per. The photo had been
touched with color — the
way portraits were dolled-
up in the 1950s and 60s.
On the back was stamped
the name of the photogra
phy studio.
It was genuine. This was
a young woman, around
20, who had dressed up,
prettied her hair, put on
her makeup, and gone to
sit for a photographer.
How was it that some
one, somewhere, did not
treasure it and say, “This
was my aunt. Wasn’t she
beautiful?”
The owner of the store
was doing paperwork at
the register so I took the
framed photo over to her.
“Ma’am, I’m puzzled
over how a family photo
like this could end up in
an antique store. Do you
remember where you got
it?”
She pushed a wisp of
gray hair back from her
forehead and thought for
a second. She nodded. “I
bought a box of items that
were left over from an es
tate sale. After the good
stuff goes, they box up the
knickknacks and sell them
for a flat price. I never
know what’s in the box
until I’ve bought it.”
I shook my head sadly.
From time to time, I think
of that lovely woman’s
picture in Paducah. Ken
tucky, and question the
path it took.
It happened again, re
cently, when I bought a
“slightly used” Bible. One
of my more favorite people
is Charley Humbard, the
president and co-found
er of the family channel,
UP. His father was the
well-respected evangelist
Rex Humbard. In the iron
ic turns of life, I used to,
as a child, watch Reverend
Humbard preach every
Sunday at 7:30 a.m., fol
lowed by Gospel Jubilee
at 8 a.m. hosted by The
Florida Boys.
Charley, who was
around my age, played
guitar in the family band.
They sang one song be
fore preaching began.
The Gospel Jubilee host
ed popular Southern gos
pel singers including a
bashful young girl, Karen
Peck, who sang with the
LeFevres. Karen has been
my best years for 35 years
and Charley had been a
good friend for a long
time.
Rev. Humbard was El
vis’ favorite preacher and
preached Elvis’ funeral.
Charley always laughs
about my fascination with
that.
In a conversation. Char
ley mentioned a King
James Bible where his
father had footnoted
prophecy scriptures and
explained them. I hung
up the phone and went in
search of the Rex Hum
bard Prophecy Bible, long
out of print. But even
tually, I found one and
promptly ordered it.
When it arrived, I was
stunned to discover a
woman’s name engraved
on it. I studied on it for a
long time.
How does a personal
ized Bible find its way to a
used book store and travel
into a stranger’s hands?
Or a family photo to an
antique shop?
I have no answers.
Ronda Rich is the
best-selling author of
What Southern Women
Know About Faith. Vis
it www.rondarich.com to
sign up for her free weekly
newsletter.
The Braselton News
Mike Buffington Co-Publisher
Scott Buffington Co-Publisher & Advertising Manager
Ben Munro Editor
Taylor Hearn Sports Editor
Wesleigh Sagon Photographer/Features
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