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HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL
Why be serious when you can laugh?
When Ferroll Sams, one of
the most beloved writ
ers of Southern litera
ture, was inducted into his native
Georgia’s Writers of Hall of Fame,
• U
ni
Ronda Rich
Dixie Divas
podium to accept the honor not in
the slow gait of a man well into his
eighties but in a humble stride,
the kind of reluctant steps that if a
walk could shrug, surely would.
This isn’t to say that he’s not
appreciative of honor that comes
with the words he pens to authen
tically reflect rural Southerners.
Tennessee beats Bulldogs solely because of my choice of pants
Kickoff, 3:34 p.m.
My attire includes a black
and red golf shirt with a
Georgia emblem, a tattered
Georgia visor, and khaki
shorts.
I’m not wearing shoes and
I’m lying on my bed, chan
nel turned to the Georgia/
Tennessee football game.
First play from scrim
mage, 14:10 left in the
first quarter.
I have the TV sound muted
and the Georgia Bulldog
radio network blaring from
a nearby radio. On the kick
off and first play (a dismal 2-
yard run), I notice the sound
is ahead of the action on
the TV screen. This is usu
ally the case when I take
this approach, but it’s only
maybe a second or so off.
Today, it’s about 40 seconds
ahead.
That much delay is com
pletely distracting, so I turn
up the TV sound and turn
off the radio.
The Bulldogs, for some
"... I remember that I always wear this
same shirt te the Georga/Horida game,
and we always lose. It's bad luck. I take it
off and watch the extra-point shirtless.”
HICKS
From page 4A
affair. That person is human
too and can’t help but feel
used when it all falls apart.
And it always falls apart.
It breaks my heart that
people may be lured into
thinking that an affair would
be no big deal, just a little
fun. This website is play
ing with fire through family
and friends. It may shatter
children’s understanding
of trust, family, fatherhood,
motherhood, safety.
I had to look my husband
in the face as he wept over
my betrayal. I had to stand in
our driveway for the last time
and say goodbye to someone
I had at one time pledged my
forever to. I had to hear him
say goodbye to the dreams
and the children we would
never realize. I had to mourn
the loss of family I would
never see again. And I have
had to live with the harsh
reality of the volumes of pain
EVANS
From page 4A
like Canada or Great Britain.
Time is of the essence in
many cases where surgery
is needed. In those countries
you wait, sometimes months,
for surgery that should be
done immediately. Here, you
get immediate attention.
The prospect of socialized
medicine in this country, as
some presidential candidates
are proposing, is frighten
ing. It could have one ben
efit, though. By making
patients wait a long time for
treatment that is urgent the
population could be reduced
and cost to the government
could go down.
Always look at the bright
side.
he did not let the
moment pass
without taking
the opportunity
to underscore
one of life’s most
enduring truths.
Sams, author
of classics like
Run With The
Horsemen,
sauntered to the
unfath
oma b 1 e
reason,
try two
bombs on
their next
two snaps
- very
unsuc
cessfully. I
turn back
on the
radio and fc*y to withstand
the annoyance.
Tennessee gets the
ball, 13:53 left in the first
quarter.
The Volunteers methodi
cally roll down the field
effortlessly, scoring with
8:44 left in the opening peri
od. I immediately turn the
TV volume back up and turn
off the radio.
Trick play to wide-open
Volunteer receiver, 14:50
left in the second quar
ter.
Sitting on my bed in
Homerville, I was actu
ally closer to this receiver
and loss I have caused.
Maybe you can’t seem
to care enough about your
spouse to guard against an
affair.
But at least care enough
about yourself not to become
somebody you are ashamed
of, disgusted by. Don’t be
someone who hurts people
on purpose.
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Lane
r SOUTHERN ORCHARDS )
He seems simply bemused that
what comes so naturally to him
- Southern storytelling - should be
recognized, as it has time and time
again, as extraordinary.
I, for one, cannot read Ferroll
Sams. Not because he isn’t good
but because he is too good. His
words - especially character dia
logue - are so strong, so enormous
ly powerful that his voice - the
literary referral to a writer’s deliv
ery - rings in my head for days. It
takes over and pushes away my
own weaker voice.
During that time when my own
literary voice retreats, I hear only
his. No other writer has ever done
that to me. But with him, I will
find myself demanding of myself to
write in Sams’ voice.
So, I am resigned, albeit unhap
pily, to the fact that I will never
have my world enriched by the
stories of the recently retired phy
sician from Fayetteville.
Len Robbins
Columnist
airpub@planttel.net
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f N PRAISE Of
PECANS
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)A»CKCO K
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But back to the ancient truth
he underscored in his acceptance
speech.
“Well,” he drawled in that deli
cious Southern cadence before
launching into a good-natured jab
but one deemed appropriate by the
invitation-only audience of a prior
speaker who had taken too long to
say too little. “Brevity is the soul
of wit.”
With that, he held the audience
in the palm of his hand. Laughter
sprayed across the audience like a
garden hose gone bananas. He said
- in an enchantingly funny way
- that which we all felt.
Firmly entrenched in the good
graces of the small but apprecia
tive audience, he continued. “Now,
do y’all want to hear something
serious or something ridiculous?”
“Ridiculous!” hollered the nor
mally sedate, scholarly group. So,
he obliged, launching into a few
short minutes of riotous, sublime
than anybody on Georgia’s
defense. ‘
As he catches it and lei
surely saunters down the
sideline, I remember that I
always wear this same shirt
to the Georgia/Florida game,
and we always lose.
It’s bad luck.
I take it off and watch the
extra-point shirtless.
Tennessee blocks a
Georgia punt, 13:15 left
in the second quarter.
The Georgia visor is dis
carded, thrown through the
bedroom door and into the
hall, giving our cat a heart
attack. My 5-year-old son
wanders in to see what the
commotion is about. He’s
supposed to be taking a nap.
I tell him he can come in and
watch the game with me.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes,” I demand, and he
sits next to me on the end of
the bed.
Next Tennessee drive,
8:13 left in the second
quarter.
After another unproduc
tive series by the Dawgs,
Tennessee gets possession
at their own 35 and quickly
orchestrate a four-play, 65-
yard scoring drive. After the
extra point, the hosts lead
28-0.
I conclude that my shirt
Georgia Family Council
is a non-profit organization
that works to strengthen and
defend the family in Georgia
by equipping marriage advo
cates, shaping laws, prepar
ing the next generation and
influencing culture. For more
information, go to www.geor
giafamily.org, 770-242-0001,
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OPINION
lessness is not helping the
Dawgs, and possibly blind
ing them with the glare, so I
grab a blue T-shirt and place
it on my torso. Shoelessness
may not be helping as well,
so I slip on some flip-flops. I
bring in a chair to sit on, and
position my face about 11
inches from the screen.
Halftime. Georgia has
two first downs and 28
yards rushing.
I decide a change of venue
is in order. I find my daugh
ter in the playroom, watch
ing Disney channel, and
order her into my bedroom
to watch her program. She
briefly resists. I squeeze
myself into a mini-recliner
in the playroom to watch the
second half.
Georgia starts their
first drive of the third
quarter at their own 26.
The new locale seems to be
working as the Dawgs drive
it down the field and score
with 9:39 left in the third
period. My son wanders into
the playroom to see what the
commotion is about.
“Leave immediately,” I tell
him.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes,” I demand sternly.
He does.
Tennessee starts ensu
ing drive at their own 35.
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tales of his own Southern life.
When he left the podium, he left
the crowd wanting more. That’s
the gift of a brilliant orator.
On rare occasion when someone
seeks my advice on speaking, I
always say, “Grab 'em with some
thing funny first. If an audience
will laugh at you, they’ll listen to
you.”
Too much of the world has lost
their sense of humor, that valuable
commodity that guides us through
times that stink like hair burned
up by a bad perm. Dr. Sams gave
the audience a choice: humor or
drama. A chance to laugh - if just
for a moment - won hands down.
He reproved an ancient truth -
that frivolity is much preferred
over somberness.
I have a friend who spent years
deflecting away any problem in
his life with jokes. Admittedly, his
quips were quick and hilarious.
Then, one day the jokes stopped.
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WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2007 ♦
Again, the Vols start breez
ing down the field. I get des
perate. I see an old cowboy
hat in my kids’ “play clothes”
basket. I put it on. I go find
the radio and plug it back
in. I beg my son to quit read
ing a book to come watch
the game with me. Nothing
works. They score with 2:29
left in the third quarter to
make it 35-7.
After my son watched me
shout instructions to the
Georgia defense during that
hope-deflating drive, he ear
nestly posed a question to his
old man.
“Daddy, why are you yell
ing at them? They can’t hear
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His problems had managed to
punch his sense of humor to death.
When his laughter took its last
breath, it extinguished the light
in his eyes. Seeing his light melt
into darkness is one of the saddest
things I’ve ever seen.
In a world where we are assault
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form of tragedies, problems,
heartbreaks and just plain minor
aggravations, we need a reprieve
where we can laugh and escape
the constant pounding that our
souls take.
If just for a moment. The human
spirit needs a good tickling as sure
ly as the body needs food, water
and air. Humor, too, is life-sustain
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Funny, isn’t it?
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you,” he said.
I bowed my head in defeat.
“I don’t know.”
“Can I have my cowboy hat
back now, daddy?”
“Do I have to?”
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