About The Forest-blade. (Swainsboro, Ga.) 1996-current | View Entire Issue (Feb. 17, 2021)
4C The Forest-Blade • ummiEmaniielConntyLive.com • Swainsboro, Georgia • February 17, 2021 Editorials Columns Playmates It is wonderful to have good friends that share our interests, concerns, fun times and not-so fun times. Friends are special blessings. From early childhood, I can name many whom I cherish as friends, but though we had many fun times, a playmate is in another cat egory. When I reminisce back to my playmates, one name comes to mind- —Nick Herrington. The Herrington fami ly, Mr. Seab, Mrs. Lucille and Nick, moved into the apartment in the house of Mrs. Harley Brown just across Bell St. from my home Mrs. Brown was a widow who supplement ed her income by renting half of her house as an apartment. Many children lived there through the years—but my memora ble playmate was Nick. Mr. Herrington came to Swainsboro in late forties to be manager of the new A&P store and introduced us to many unknown delights. Since Nick and I were inseparable in our playing, Mrs. Lucille often made a picnic for us to eat under the big tree. The sandwich was always made with Peter Pan Peanut Butter. I had eaten lots of peanut butter but none as creamy and spreadable as Peter Pan. Our beverage was made from red powder from a can, mixed with water in a pitcher and poured over ice. The time was near the end of WWII, and Cokes were scarce due to rationing of sugar. This was my introduction to— you guessed it—Kool Ade. Except for time in school, Nick and I spent every possible, waking hour in play. All it took was say ing, "let's play like" and we became Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Tarzan and Jane or whatever we had recently seen at the Dixie. In one of our "play likes" my Dale was sling ing a jump rope around in the air as a lasso. The jump rope had wooden handles. Nick was in my range, and the handle popped him just above his eyebrow. Blood gushed out. My Saeb was sitting at the kitchen table eat ing his noon meal and watching us playing out side. When he saw the accident and blood, he jumped from the back steps, gathered Nick in his arms and raced up the block to Dr. Brown's hos pital. I ran right behind them following the trail of blood—terrified. I sat on the steps of the hospital sobbing. I knew when I saw the blood that Nick would surely die. Aside from concern for him, I knew if I had killed Nick, I was in big trouble. Shortly, Mr. Seab came out with Nick in his arms and a few stitches above his eyebrow. The only con sequence was my jump rope was put away for a while and used only for jumping in the future. My father grew a special red grape on the huge vine in our back yard. The early fall grapes were not for eating but wine making. Mr. Seab contributed the needed sugar to add to the grapes that would fer ment in a large crock with a spigot. Don't know how they judged when the juice had fermented into wine, but it did. Mr. Seab and my father often ended their work day sit ting together under the grapevine enjoying a glass of homemade wine before supper. Nick and I watched them open the spigot and fill their glass with what looked delicious to us. Of course, we determined to secretly give it a try on our own, and we did. We found a time with none of our par ents nearby and opened the spigot to each fill a tea glass with the lovely purple drink. We found it tasty, sweet and felt really good as it went down our throat but did not expect what happened next. I remember a lot of "sick ness" and feeling dizzy. My mother asked, "What is wrong with you?" I answered, "Seems like I am going crazy." Nick was having the same experience. I think the Shirley Proctor Tzviss "morning after" condition lasted for all the next day. Our parents discussed punishment but decided that we had been pun ished enough. Nick and I laughed about this every time we met in the future. He always referred to this as, "The time we got into our Daddy's wine." The years passed, and Nick and I were always friends but no longer playmates. Later we con nected again when Nick and my future husband were in the same fraterni ty at Georgia Tech. When I saw his obit uary in the Blade, I felt sorrow in the loss of my old playmate but pride and joy in the life time of the man. After gradu ating from Tech, he was commissioned and served his commitment to the US Army. After active duty, he and Annelle returned to make his hometown their home. Nick began his career with Swainsboro Supply Company that had been started by his father and grown with much success. Nick continued to own and manage the company for more than forty years. Swainsboro Supply was a hallmark company in the business growth of Swainsboro. Nick and Annelle were a vital part of every aspect of the growth and quality of life in your (and my hometown). Nick, I know you fulfilled you parent's greatest dreams for you. Rest in Peace, my old playmate, with dreams of a childhood of happy play, and a manhood of love and fulfillment dancing through your head. Write to Shirley at sptzviss@gmail. com Week of February 13,2021 I blush as I write this (well, not really) but things are going well at the Uni versity of Georgia, the nation's oldest state-char tered university, located in Athens, the Classic City of the South. UGA President Jere Morehead's State of the University address notes among other positives that U.S. News and World Re port ranks my alma mater in the top 20 (#15) of all public universities in the nation. Oh, did I mention we just got our 25th Rhodes Scholar? All that and a pret ty fair football team, too. Our cup runneth over. . . . In the interest of equal time, I will say that while most Republican politicians in Georgia seem to have lost their tongues, a couple of Georgia Tech grads in the Legislature are show ing some real backbone in standing up to the torch- and-pitchfork crowd still smarting over the results of the presidential elec tion. Former Yellow Jack et pitcher and current Lt. Gov. Geoff Duncan seems not the least bit intimidat ed by the ominous rum blings coming from the Trumpsters about his future political career nor is he hesitant to speak his piece about the election being over and done with. . . . Another Georgia Tech loy alist, State Rep. Bert Reeves, R-Cobb County calls U.S. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene "an embarrassment to Georgia" and "the face of radical political extrem ism." Reeves does not say such things lightly. If Re publicans have a lick of political sense, they will listen to these two men or get ready to hand the keys to the Governor's office over to Democrat Stacey Abrams next November.... Speaking of Greene (must we?) here is proof that po litical buffoonery in Geor gia is color-blind. First, there was Cong. Cynthia McKinney a Black woman whose only contributions to our state were a bunch of wacky conspiracy theo ries and positioning herself on the aisle at each State of the Union address in order Dick Yarbrough to wet-kiss whatever unfor tunate president happened to be coming by. Greene, white as new-driven snow, is equally wacky. . . . Greene, newly elected from Georgia's 14th congres sional district held a press conference recently to say she was sorry - sort of - for saying things like sug gesting that the California wildfires were started by a space laser beam which was controlled by the Roth schilds, a prominent Jewish banking company and (my favorite) that then-Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg was being played by a body double. (Who? Dolly Parton?) She was summarily stripped of all of her committee assign ments, meaning her constit uents can expect taxation without representation. If she plays her cards right, Greene could replace McK inney as our next Ambas sador to Outer Space. . . . I don't know if you watched the Super Bowl or not. According to the ratings, not many did. As is my wont, I didn't turn on the television until af ter the National Anthem was played and I changed channels during the half time show because I have no idea who those people are. So why do I bring this up? It turns out that Tam pa Bay coach Bruce Arians is the oldest coach to win a Super Bowl and Tom Brady is the oldest quarterback to do so. You better watch us old folks. We rock!. . . . We are coming up on the 25th anniversary of the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games in Atlanta. While I'm not sure if there will an official celebration or not, I will have my own anniversary to celebrate. Two years after the Games, I was asked to write a guest column about how well the city did in hosting the event. I said At lanta blew the Games. The city government was racist, the business community was more worried about traffic than how the city would appear to the world and the local media was in over their heads. That led to another column and then another and now 23 years and some 2,000 col umns later, I find myself the most widely-syndicated columnist in Georgia Finally the outpouring of support I have received across the state follow ing the loss of the beloved Woman Who Shares My Name has been nothing short of overwhelming. So many of you have told me how you welcome me into your homes each week and how you have grieved for me and with me. The experience has reminded me that words have mean ing and to be careful in my use of them. So I will leave you with these two simple words: Thank you. You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough. com; at P.O. Box 725373, At lanta, Georgia 31139 or on Facebook at www.facebook. com/ dicky arb. Editorial Cartoons ktd: U PAD, HOW COME ANIMALS HIBERNATE BUT HUMANS PONT? by Mike Marland 111,1 — [The Spats by Jeff Pickering | / T7 lr-V//r?r- kiaT The Forest-Blade © 2021 All rights reserved. Gail Williamson, Editor / Publisher Whitley Clifton, Newsroom Editor Emanuel County Newspaper, Inc. 416 W. Moring St., P.O. Box 938 • Swainsboro, GA, 30401 Telephone: 478-237-9971 • Facsimile: 478-237-9451 Internet: zvzvzv.EmanuelCountyLive.com nezvs@emanuelcountylizie.com • adziertising@emanuelcountylroe.com © 2021 Emanuel County Nezvspapers, Inc. The entire contents of this nezvspaper are copyrighted. Any reproduction or dissemination zvithout the express zvritten consent of the publisher is strictly prohibited. We welcome Letters to the Editor from our readers. However, due to increas ing production costs, we must request that letters be kept to approximately 350 words. All letters must be signed by at least one person. Address and telephone number of the writer should also be giv en. The Blade reserves the right to edit let ters and limit the number of letters on any one subject from any one person.
