Newspaper Page Text
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 18, 2017
THE JACKSON HERALD
PAGE 5A
When the tide goes out
I hope I'm not running this in the
ground, but the boys and I made
but yet another trip on the “Sloop
John B” last week. This trip went a
little smoother than the one before.
We had no major mechani
cal problems and the fishing
was a lot better, too.
I almost got my limit one
day, although one of my
keepers could have been a
fraction of an inch short if
the game warden had mea
sured carefully.
We took most of our eve
ning meals at a little place
called “Ouzts Too.” Don't
ask me where they got the
name — it probably means
something in Indian. It was our
favorite place to eat because it was
the only restaurant for about 50
miles. They really did have some
excellent seafood.
They say, “Teach a man to fish and
he can feed himself for life.’'
Get a man in the proper state-of-
mind to sing karaoke and the bouncer
has to take the microphone away
from him. But when I was wail
ing-out one of my tunes. I brought
the house down. How was I supposed
to know the post next to the amplifier
I knocked-over was supporting part
of the building? (I don't think the
structure was entirely up to code.)
There was no doubt that karaoke
night was the highlight of the week
for many people in this part of the
world. We immediately made the
acquaintance of a bevy of beauties
that had taken-up at the edge of the
stage. There were five of them at the
table and between all of them they
probably had 40 teeth.
While awaiting my next turn to
sing, I struck-up a conversation with
one of them.
“I might as well tell you, we are
actually Hollywood talent agents that
just happened to be passing through
and decided to stop.”
She said, “You're full of s t.
Your buddy already told us you’re
down here fishing!”
“Well yea, we’re doing that too.”
“I bet you've got wives!”
“Yea, but they're 200 miles away.”
One of my fellow anglers sitting at
the bar had overheard this. He turned
and said. “Oh no Mike, they’re far
ther than that. They're prob
ably 500 miles from here,”
Anyway, we were there
for food and entertainment,
not female companionship.
* * *
I received several com
ments from readers in regard
to remarks I had made
recently about gun control
and also about the “protest”
some NFL players have been
staging during the playing of
the National Anthem before
the game. Of all the comments I
received, my favorite was a picture
someone sent me of a woman wear
ing a T-shirt imprinted with this mes
sage: “If North Korea bombs us, I
think the Military should kneel down
and let the NFL handle it.”
* * *
When I was a kid, one of my favor
ite people in the whole world was my
Uncle Tom. He was my aunt’s hus
band and I thought he hung the moon
and the stars. An auto mechanic by
trade, he had a fully restored 1912
Ford in the same condition it was in
the day it left the factory. With huge
brass acetylene headlights, the body
was bright red with black fenders.
The horn blew when you squeezed a
rubber bulb and it also had an exhaust
whistle. There was a pedal in the
floor that opened a valve hooked to
the exhaust. He would let us blow
it sometimes inside those tunnels in
Chattanooga. It made a weird whis
tling/chirping sound that echoed off
the walls and it just didn’t get any
better than that. This car was used,
with him driving it, in a movie called
“All the Way Home” that starred Jean
Simmons and Robert Preston.
We spent a lot of time with “The
Teague’s” growing-up and sometimes
things didn’t go as planned. Once we
were supposed to meet them at a
place called “Cooper's Creek,” near
Suches for a weekend of camping.
We got there in the afternoon to set
up camp and expected them to arrive
by dark. My dad had gone to a lot of
trouble to fabricate a coffee pot using
a gallon can and a coat hanger. He
had also rigged-up something to hold
it above the fire.
The Teague’s were late leaving, but
Uncle Tom knew of a shortcut across
a mountain, that would cut several
miles off their journey and make
up for lost time. It was an unpaved
one-lane road that got very little use.
I guess I should mention that there
was nothing Uncle Tom hated worse
than a snake.
They were making good progress
when suddenly, in his rear-view mir
ror. he saw a snake at the edge of the
road. He backed-up in order to run
over it and suddenly his rear wheel
dropped off the road bed. The car
would not move in either direction.
Back at the campsite, it had gotten
dark with no sign of the Teague’s.
About another hour went by and my
dad was livid.
“Those damn Teague’s (who were
hanging helplessly on the side of a
mountain), we’re never going to plan
anything with them again!”
With that, he took the coffee pot he
had spent so long making and slung
it through the woods. We broke camp
and went to my grandmother’s house
a few miles away, which was on the
main road going to Cooper's Creek.
About 10:30 that night, the
Teague’s came riding-in at her house,
A forest ranger in a jeep with a chain
happened along and pulled them
back up on the road.
And you know what? The snake
Uncle Tom backed-up to run over
was already dead. It had been for
some time.
So at 11:30 that night, my daddy
was on his hands and knees with
a flashlight crawling through the
underbrush looking for that coffee
pot.
Thanks for reading
Mike Rector is a local contrac
tor. He can be reached at mikerec-
tor405@gmail. com.
mike
rector
Appalachia Museum
NORRIS, Tenn. - The
Museum of Appalachia
allows one to step back in
time and is a reminder that
even today with
all the remark
able technolog
ical advances
that we are not
that far removed
from hardscrab
ble living and
the necessity of
making do.
The first
thing that catch
es your eye is
a quote which
illuminates the
life and times
of these modest mountain
folk of the early 1900's
— “whatever we had, is
what we made ourselves.”
The most graphic con
firmation of “the way it
was,” for that era was that
some enterprising moun
tain codger had made a
bedpan banjo.
For our grandparents
and great-grandparents,
who were making do
when the turn of the 20th
century came about, they
would be astonished by
the instantaneousness of
e-mail and other forms of
technology which boggle
the mind. They would
have been overwhelmed
by putting a man on the
moon. Man-on-the-
moon! Such old news
now, believe it or not.
I didn’t notice an abun
dance of cars in the park
ing lot or on the premises
which reflected that there
is not a rush of folk keen
on investigating how the
“make do” generation
made do.
Having grown up on a
farm in the fifties, I could
relate to much of what
I saw: modest tools for
eking out a living from the
land, quilts which were
“community” produced.
Women gathered at a
neighbor’s house to col
lectively produce quilts.
Hanging about in the
museum were quilts with
curious names: “Bache
lor’s Dream,” “Friendship
Quilt,” and one which
left you quizzical and
amused: “Murder quilt.”
Perhaps
that
was one
await-
ing a carousing
husband.
There
were
“log rollings”
decades
ago
which I always
heard about.
The men would
gather to cut
down trees for
sawmilling and
build houses
for one anoth
er. The cost
amounted to little more
than the nails which were
required to fashion the
studs together.
If somebody needed
something store bought,
it was paid for over time.
Usually a long time. Bar
ter was a way of life.
Several quarts of honey
for a ham or a side of
beef. A bushel of roast
ing ears for a basket of
butterbeans. Carpenters
and blacksmiths swapped
services with one another.
There were few. if any,
plumbers which is why
there was always an out
building with the tradi
tional half-moon carving
on the door.
From the simple life
and the simple folk, lumi
naries emerged. Cord
ell Hull from Olympus
became Secretary of
State during the Franklin
D. Roosevelt ear. Sar
gent Alvin York grew up
in Pall Mall and became
one of the most decorated
soldiers in U. S. military
history. A placard notes
that Jim Smith "lived in
a cave and his worldly
goods were but an armful.”
Whittier’s, craftsmen,
masons, millers and farm
ers all bent on survival.
Helping hands were for
family, friends and neigh
bors. There is a section on
country music, reminding
us of the pleasure that Roy
Acuff, the Carter family,
Uncle Dave Macon, Cas
Walker and others brought
not only to the mountain
folk in Tennessee but to
the world. I couldn’t
help noticing there was
a photo of Dolly Parton
before her blouse size
changed. There was a
tribute to Redd Stuart and
the Tennessee Waltz. I
stopped and listened for
Patti Page’s voice singing
this popular hit.
The crude instruments
of the original dentist in
these parts, made you
keenly aware that there
was a time in which it
was best never to have a
toothache. Then there was
a display, paying tribute
to country doctors and the
legendary Hennie Cope
land. She was known
as the “Mid-Wife of the
Cumberland’s.”
She was a godsend to
DRAIN THE SWAMP!
“5 ELECTED OFFICIALS GET
THEIR STREETS RESURFACED”*
COINCIDENCE OR
NO COINCIDENCE?
* The Commerce News, Nov. 5, 2014
the mountain folk in East
Tennessee. She delivered
over a thousand babies in
her lifetime, riding about
on a horse, side-saddle,
with compensation being
whatever the grateful fam
ily could part with: a bottle
of homemade syrup, a jar
of pickled pig’s feet or a
bonnet or a quart of moon
shine or anything a family
had two of. Most often it
was nothing, but that didn’t
keep Hennie from doing
her part in accommodating
the gift of life.
You marvel at how our
forebears of that era found
a way to survive, under
sparse conditions. You
leave the Appalachia Muse
um keenly aware, putting
in perspective a fear that
looms over us today — that
there is one thing the peo
ple of that era could not do.
They could not destroy
themselves.
Lor an Smith is a colum
nist for Mainstreet News
papers. He is the co-host
of the University of Geor
gia football tailgate show.
—
Headmaster’s
r"l
Corner
~ r
by
Steve Cummings
IrJ
FOCUS ON THE GOOD -
Are you depressed after read
ing the news each day? Why
is it that much of the focus in
the media is negative? Why
do we place so much attention
on what’s wrong instead of on
what’s right?
I guess it’s true - Bad News
Sells.
Instead of putting all of our
focus on the negative, Scrip
ture calls us to take a different
approach. In Philippians, we
are told to meditate on those
things that are pure, noble,
lovely and good. While there
is a lot of “bad” in the world,
there is also a lot of “good.”
When we choose to focus on the
“good” things, we come away
with a new outlook on life.
ATHENS
CHRISTIAN SCHOOL
“Affordable Quality Education Since 1970”
K3-12TH CALL (706) 549-7586
www.athenschristian.com
Finally made it to the
‘elite’ after all this time
I’ve never thought of myself as “the elite,” but our
president seems to think I am.
My career has been spent at small newspapers in
a variety of places, most of them
fairly conservative. I have been
regarded as a flaming liberal in
some places and a doughty con
servative in others.
My allies in all my papers
have been folks who general
ly favored open government,
providing concrete and detailed
information. That has led me
to understand, and appreciate,
that Republicans and Democrats
meet those criteria. I have been
“accused” of both liberal and
conservative, but have always
thought of myself as relatively
modifier in front of that word) and relatively mod
erate.
The two men I admire the most on a local political
level are one Democrat and one Republican.
I have known about (notice it is not a “belief’)
climate change since I was a teenager and saw the
effects of acid rain on Smoky Mountain trees on the
North Carolina-Tennessee border.
Similarly, I have known about (again, not a
“belief’) evolution since I first saw fossils in east
Tennessee rock formations when I was 12 or so.
Those two pieces of knowledge, among others,
make me an “elitist,” according to Donald Trump’s
view.
Mostly though, in the public realm, the foundation
of any thought or decision should be facts.
That odd notion seems to put me on the opposite
side from our president. It is a concept he doesn’t
care about and largely ignores.
I have never lived on either coast. I have lived
most of my life in the “South,” but I realized when
I moved to Georgia, and earlier. Kentucky, that East
Tennessee is not the South.
One brief sojourn in western Maryland demon
strated I had lived more in the South than not. People
there thought I talked funny. That was one of the
places I was stodgy and conservative. (I did like the
open bars at public events, though.)
Being a Hillbilly is a bit like being a Southerner,
but significant differences also exist. I grew up in
a staunchly Republican area and learned early that
politics is a many-sided topic.
Compromise has long been in my lexicon and it
has become one of the foundations of my political
and governmental beliefs.
Being a reporter does not mean I have no opinions.
Being a reporter means I work hard at seeing all
sides and telling all sides.
A core belief, for example, is that public education
is a building block of society. That means I believe
government should pay for public education and pay
as much as can be squeezed out of public revenue.
Public education can make a difference for folks.
I was among the first in my family to graduate from
college. Now I have a niece with a doctorate and
multiple cousins with advanced degrees.
Education did not bring me wealth. Some of that
was my fault for not being more careful with money.
Some of it was that I have spent my life in a field
that pays poorly.
Education has brought mental stimulation and
pleasure with words and thought. Education has
enhanced and expanded my love of words and books.
I have some of my upbringing's suspicion of “Ivy-
leaguers,” but I also wish I had attended Vanderbilt,
or Duke, or Emory - and that I had been a better
student.
My background is very much lower middle class,
maybe. Our family was solidly Republican in poli
tics. I support candidates on all sides.
We were not wealthy, not even “comfortable.” I
was expected to work - if I wanted to date, I had
to work. That’s been the case for more than five
decades.
But I’m elitist because I think “truth” and “facts”
are more than empty words.
So be it. Guilty as charged.
rational (note the
Ron Bridgeman is a reporter for Mainstreet News
papers. Send him email at ron@mainstreetnews.
com.
Vote
Donald Wilson
Ward 2 Councilman
The Peoples Choice
November 7th
A Winner
Stay With A Winner
Vote For A Winner
I am working to be a winner on November 7.
With your help and voting for me, you and I will
come out a winner for Ward 2 Councilman.
No one wants to be a loser.
So please vote for me on November 7.
Donald Wilson Is a Sure Winner,
If you vote for me.
If you need to talk to me, please give me a call at
706-335-3429
I am there for you now!
Romans 8:31
If God be for us, who can be against us?