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Jackson VvtxAtzss-£tgus
J. D. JONES PUBLISHER
(1908-1955)
DOYLE JONES JR.—Editor and
Publisher
Published every Thursday at 129 South Mulberry
Street, Jackson, Georgia 30233 by The Progress-Argus
Printing Cos., Inc. Second Class Postage paid at
Jackson, Georgia 30233.
Address notice of undeliverable copies and other
correspondence to The Jackson Progress-Argus, P. O.
Box 249, Jackson, Georgia 30233.
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By Doyle Jones Jr.
Jest of the Week: NO NEED TO GET MAD:
“Your honor,” complained an irate lady to the judge, “this
here no account husband of mine drinks.”
“Yes sir, judge, your honor, I do drink some,”
admitted the husband. “But, that woman don’t treat me right.
Why, I pawned the kitchen stove to get a little money and she
didn’t miss it for two weeks.”
xxxxxxxxxx
GOOD TIP: A little boy was sitting behind a
bald-headed man at church, who was scratching the fringe of
hair on one side of his bald spot. The old gentleman kept it up
so long that at last the little boy became interested, and
leaning over said:
“Say, mister, you’ll never catch him there. Why don’t
you run him out in the open?”
XXXXXXXXXX
DUDE BELL AN UNFORGETTABLE MAN
If I said that Claude M. Bell is one of my favorite
persons, many would not know of whom I speak. If I identified
him as “Dude” Bell, then he will be more readily recognized.
Dude is a smallish Negro man of a youthful appearing
85 years and I know of no other person of his race more
universally respected than he. In his younger days and for a
great number of years, he was known as a “tinner” and
recognized throughout middle Georgia for the excellence of
his work. When it came to installing and repairing gutters,
Dude was in a class to himself and so popular was his work
that he was always in demand because of his craftsmanship,
dependability and fair prices.
Friday afternoon I was walking toward the entrance
of the C&S parking lot, when I heard someone whistling
merrily as they walked north on Mulberry Street but for the
moment the person was hidden by the shrubbery. In a second
or so I saw Dude’s hat and head and stopped him for a brief
chat. He remarked that he was 85 years old and thankful he
was as active as he is, giving the “good Lord” credit for his
longevity. I agreed and told him that he does not look his 85
years and he doesn’t, by at least 15 years.
He began reminiscing about the old days in Jackson
and pointing to the post office, remarked that he remembered
when there was a livery stable there and I surprised him
when I remarked that I remembered it also. I really raised
his eyebrows when I told him I remembered the Chinese
Laundry across the street from where we were standing and
he recalled that the owner used to do shirt collars for 2 cents
each. “Lawsy me, Mr. Jones,” he queried, “how old are
you?” When I told him 58, he realized I remembered the
Jackson of the early 1920’5.
I told Dude I reacalled rather vividly the night the
Wigwam burned. I remembered walking into the front yard of
our home on Indian Springs Street and the brightness of the
flames five miles away enabling one to read a paper. I
remember driving down with my mother the next morning in
the Studebaker touring car to see the remains first hand and
recalled they smouldered for several days.
Dude said he was in St. Louis at the time of the fire
and recalls that a man when he discovered he was from
Georgia, asked if he knew where Indian Springs was. Dude
replied, “Yes, it’s only five miles from where I live.” With
that reply, Dude was told the Wigwam burned and he told me
that only a few days before he left on his trip to St. Louis, he
had worked on some of the gutters at the ill-fated hotel,
probably Georgia’s largest and most widely known resort
hotel.
The things I like best about Dude are his cheerfulness
and his genial concern for people white, black or any
other color. I never recall meeting Dude when he did not give
me a cordial greeting and always seemed to lift my spirits.
Race, color or creed makes no difference to this unusual man
who appears to love all humankind from a compassionate
heart. One instinctively senses that Dude is a friend and that
“brotherhood” to him is close to the concept held by the
Maker of us all.
Asa youngster, I was always impressed by tales I
heard of Dude’s prowess as a hunter. Now, I’ve never been
hunting with Dude in my life, but I quickly learned from his
companions that he was perhaps one of the finest shots ever to
follow a dog in the quest for the elusive Bob White. I’ve heard
that what he could do with a shotgun in the midst of a rising
covey of quail is unbelievable. It has been said of him that he
was one of the few hunters who could consistently get three or
four birds from most any covey. On singles Dude was so
THE JACKSON PROGRESS-ARGUS, JACKSON. GEORGIA
'Whatsoever
JHk] Things'
By Donald E. Wildmon
LIFE. DO WE ENDURE IT OR ENJOY IT?
(Part One-Clip and Save)
I was sitting with my mother who was in the hospital.
Someone had to be with her constantly because she was
receiving her medicine and nourishment intravenously. The
needle to her vein had been placed in the neck after repeated
efforts to enter a vein in other areas of her body had failed.
We were very careful to make sure that nothing happened to
cause the needle in the neck to come out. Literally, her life
depended on that needle in her neck and the medicine and
nourishment she received through it.
It was early in the morning and Mama was scheduled
for x-ray. When the aide came to get Mama, I spoke as
friendly to the aide as I knew how. She gave back a sullen
growl. I got the impression that the aide considered it a
nuisance to have had to get up that morning.
In transferring Mama from her bed to the roiling
stretcher, the aide accidentally gave the tube running from
the bottle to Mama’s neck a quick jerk. “Please be careful
with that,” I said. The aide said nothing. But one could read
what she was thinking by the look on her face.
As she rolled Mama away, I thought maybe the aide
had just had a bad morning and that she wasn’t like that all
the time. But I ran across her a few more times during the
weeks when Mama was in the hospital, and each time I saw
her she was in the same frame of mind. That aide brought to
mind a poem my speech teacher gave us back in seminary:
If I knew the box where the smiles are kept,
No matter how large the key
Or strong the bolt, I would try so hard,
‘Twould open, I know, for me.
Then over the land and sea broadcast,
I’d scatter the smiles to play,
That the children’s faces might hold them fast
For many and many a day.
If I knew a box that was large enough
To hold all the frowns I meet,
I would like to gather them, every one,
From the nursery, school and street,
Then, holding and folding I’d pack them in,
And turning the monster key
I’d hire a giant to drop the box
Into the depths of the sea.
The aide didn’t enjoy life, she only endured it.
Unfortunately, there are a number of people like that lady.
People who simply endure life. Hardly ever enjoy it. They are
unusually grouchy people. Nearly always complaining. They
have no joy in them. They are no fun to be around.
Life must, undoubtedly, be a real drudgery for these
people. They are characterized by being basically,
self-centered people, consistently feeling that life has
short-changed them, feeling they have been and still are
mistreated. Usually they feel that others are trying to push
them down, misuse them and cheat them. These peole go
through life mumbling and grumbling, always wearing a chip
on their shoulder and expecting everybody else to try to knock
it off. Sometimes you get the impression that they can only
find their joy in their misery.
I say these people are not enjoying life. They are
merely enduring life. And it is beyond me why, when we are
given only one chance at life on this earth, many people
choose to endure it rather than enjoying it.
Suppose you had to make a trip of two thousand
miles. You were offered the choice of going in a run-down
jalopy which would give you nothing but trouble all the way,
or going in anew Cadillac with all the extras. Which would
you choose to go in? Why, the Cadillac, of course. And yet
there are multitudes of people content to ride through life in a
condition similar to the broken down jalopy.
Why choose to merely exist when you can live? Why
choose to endure life when you can enjoy life? You can cross
the ocean in a tugboat if you wish. But why do that when you
can go in a luxurious 747 jumbo jet? FIVE STAR.
H!!l)I HLftJRRI
By Mrs. Cindy Brown
Boy, it’s great when
families get together. We
traveled to Warner Robins
this past weekend and visited
with friends and family we
hadn’t seen in quite some
time. While there, we were
discussing the fact that
people don’t get together like
they used to do. It seems kind
of funny that this would be
the case as so many more
folks have cars and better
access to traveling than they
used to.
Remember those big fami
ly gatherings we used to all
have? You know, the kind
deadly that the bird was as good as in the pot. On a dove shoot,
Dude was downing the gray ghosts with regularity, while
most other hunters were only wasting powder and creating
noise. I did have the privilege of hunting once or twice with
the late Dr. Joseph E. Edwards and I understand from the
other hunters that he and Dude were about on a par. But if
Dude was better than “Mr. Joe”, then I know he was a
sensation with a shotgun.
I like Dude’s outlook on life. It’s optimistic. He loves
life and has a zest for living. No stale routine for him. Every
new day is a challenge and a gift from the God he loves so
much. The gift of life is precious to him.
Dude is a good man and a godly man and, at 85, a very
active man. No wonder he whistles while he walks. When we
parted from our conversation, Dude said very sincerely,
“Boss man, I hope you and all my friends live as long as I
have.” And I replied with all the fervor I could muster, “I do
too.” And never did I mean anything more.
where everybody always ate
too much and talked them
selves hoarse? Those were
the days, my friend. It was
just so nice to get together
and discuss who had grown
and how much, who had
married and how well, and
who had had good luck and
how they’d come by it.
Coconut cakes, fried chick
en and potato salad usually
comprised the menu for
these gatherings, along with
iced tea and homemade ice
cream by the gallons full.
Many a child (and even
adult) would go home from
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1974
Mr. Mills
Buried In
Cordele
Mr. Ernest William Mills,
70, of Jenkinsburg, died
Friday night about 10 o’clock
at Sylvan Grove Hospital
following a brief illness. Mr.
Mills is believed to have
suffered a massive heart
attack at his home about five
hours before his death.
Born January 11, 1904 in
Dooly County, Mr. Mills was
the son of the late Mr. Henry
Mills and the late Mrs.
Elizabeth Gammage Mills. A
retired farmer, Mr. Mills and
his family moved to Jenkins
burg from Cordele a few
years ago. He was a member
of the Jenkinsburg Baptist
Church.
Funeral services were held
Sunday afternoon, Septem
ber 22nd, from the chapel of
Dekle Funeral Home in
Cordele with the Rev.
Eugene Maddox, pastor of
the Jenkinsburg Baptist
Church, and a layman, Mr.
Alvin Braswell, officiating.
Interment was in the
Sunnyside City Cemetery in
Cordele. Sherrell Funeral
Home was in charge of
arrangements in Jackson.
Mr. Mills is survived by
one daughter, Mrs. Juanita
Mixon of Jenkinsburg; one
son, Marvin Mills of Perry;
three sisters, Mrs. Elsie
Davidson of Pitts, Mrs.
Evelyn Henderson of Warner
Robins, and Miss Patsy Mills
of Macon: seven grand
children, several nieces and
nephews.
SANDY CREEK FDT’N
TO MEET SATURDAY
A meeting planned by the
Board of Directors serving
the Sandy Creek Cemetery
Foundation has been prev
iously announced and it is
hoped that many will attend.
Financial decisions neces
sary in the continued care
and improvement of the
cemetery will be made at this
meeting to be held Saturday,
Sept. 28th, at 3 p.m. Sandy
Creek Church will be open for
this meeting.
these feasts with an overly
full tummy, requiring a
quick dash to the soda
container.
The food-laden tables
would be positioned under
spreading trees and most of
us would carry our well-filled
plates to grassy slopes, sit
and do honor to all the good
cooks.
Today when we meet with
the kin, things are somewhat
different. Usually, the feast
ing is done indoors, which
takes a little of the
enjoyment from the festivi
ties. (Also, not quite as good
a percent of the folks arrange
to be present, so the
reminiscing is somewhat
reduced.)
We have all talked of the
good old days at sometime or
other, and perhaps you think
I wail too freely, but I truly
think this one activity
old-fashioned getting-togeth
er should be brought
back. How about you, old and
youngtimers alike?
NOW ON DISPLAY
4
.
' 1 Klliwuiirrii j [
NEW SMALL CHRYSLER Cordoba, an intermediate, personal luxury car will ■
October 1. Offered are many features normally available only in bigger cars U ° ea^er showrooms,
CARTER MOTOR CO., INC. 137 West 3rd St.
Conservation
League Taps
Gingrich
Georgia’s League of Con
servation Voters announced
today their endorsement of
Newt Gingrich (R-Carroll
ton) for the Sixth District
seat in the U.S. House of
Representatives.
Gingrich thanked the
group for their support and
noted, “In all modesty, I’m
sure their support for my
campaign is based on my
opponent’s environmental
record as much as it is on my
own background.”
Carlton Neville, League
president who announced his
group’s support, noted that
current Sixth District Con
gressman John J. Flynt
(D-Griffin) has been “a
consistent opponent of good
environmental and energy
conservation legislation.”
Flynt was noted as
“Georgia’s most anti-con
servation congressman dur
ing the last session of
Congress,” Neville said. He
specifically attacked Flynt
for “ignoring important
pollution problems in the
Sixth” and for his long-time
support of the controversial
Spewrell Bluff Dam project.
During a question-and
answer session after the
announcement, Gingrich
labelled “major supplies of
clean water” as the major
environmental problem fac
ing the 14 counties in the
Sixth. Gingrich also re-af
firmed his strong opposition
to the construction of the
Spewrell Bluff Dam. He
called the proposal “Flynt’s
own $250 million monument
to pork barrel politics.”
“We don’t need another
man-made lake for recrea
tion purposes in this area,”
Gingrich said, noting the
proximity of several more.
“I think we should create a
wilderness river park in the
area for canoe trips and
picnics by families.”
Gingrich also called for
more “team work” among
the metro area congressmen
who represent the Fourth,
Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, and
Ninth Districts.
Guest Editorial
The Atlanta Journal
Power and Glory
An issue as emotional as whether Richard Nixon has
suffered enough in being forced from the presidency may not
be an easy one in which to clarify a philosophical point. But
philosophy, like religion, is of little use if it cannot be related
to real life, and there is a need for clarification of one aspect
of the moral judgments being made about the former
president’s situation.
The statement has been made many times in recent
weeks that resigning from the highest office in the land is a
severe punishment. Often this is coupled with the idea that
doing so with a measure of disgrace involves suffering. But a
controversy does not automatically mean disgrace, and
disgrace must be perceived as such by the person who is the
object of it.
Any sensitive man would suffer at finding himself in
disgrace if he believed he deserved it; he would be deeply
saddened and disappointed with himself. So far, however,
Richard Nixon, has acknowledged only that he made
“mistakes and misjudgments.” If, as his former chief of staff
Alexander Haig has said, he still believes he did not commit
an impeachable offense, then he may feel resentment at his
treatment but he does not feel the punishment that a man
inflicts upon himself when he realizes that he has truly done
wrong.
What is disturbing about the public attitude is that
many people seem to feel that the loss of high office is a
severe blow apart from any feelings of disgrace or failure
that might be suffered. This implies that the power and the
glory of the presidency is a possession which an individual
has a right to enjoy for himself. The loss of power is not in
itself bad unless we believe that holding power is in itself
good yet the lust for personal power traditionally has
been suspect in our democratic faith.
Only if we are prepared to abandon the American
belief that public office is a trust rather than a prize can we
hold that the loss of office is in itself a punishment. If many of
us believe that power is so good in itself that it must hurt a
man to lose it, then the attitudes that made a Watergate
possible are still widely shared. The suffering of a man who
truly feels himself disgraced deserves sympathy and
forebearance; the emptiness of a man who is nothing without
the trappings of pomp and ceremony deserves something
else. Until we know which of these is Richard Nixon, who can
say that his punishment fits the crime?
The highest hotel in Europe
is the Holiday Inn in Augs
burg, West Germany!
A history teacher and
environmental studies coor
dinator on leave of absence
from West Georgia College,
Newt is former president of
the West Georgia Chapter of
the Georgia Conservancy. He
is married and the father of
two children.
HOWELL LUNSFORD BE
INSTALLED AS DEACON
On September 29th at Bible
Tabernacle Church on Indian
Springs Street, a service will
be conducted to ordain
Howell Lunsford into the
office of deacon.
Rev. Gene Maddox will
bring the ordination service.
All ordained deacons and
ministers are invited, and the
public is welcome.
