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Page 4A - Pike County Journal Reporter - Wednesday, September 8, 2021
Opinions
9/11 museum’s decision to scrap special
20th anniversary tribute is a disgrace
STEVE CUOZZO
New York Post
As the 20th anniver
sary of the 9/11 terror
ist attack looms, the
National September 11
Memorial and Museum
is crying poverty for the
second year in a row.
This time, it says it can’t
afford to mount special
exhibitions planned to
mark the two-decade
milestone.
In 2020, the twin-beam
“Tribute in Light” was
canceled only to win
a last-minute reprieve
after soon-to-be-ex Gov.
Cuomo pitched in state
resources. But no such
bailout appears in the
offing this time.
In fact, this year, the
museum is shamefully
restricting the reading-
of-the-names ceremony
exclusively to the fami
lies of 9/11 victims.
No hero firefighters,
cops, first responders or
emergency workers, who
were normally welcome
until the pandemic elimi
nated last year’s event,
are invited.
It’s simply outrageous
that the great museum
— a “humanely crafted
engine of catharsis,” as
1 wrote at its 2014 open
ing — plans to sit out the
20th anniversary with a
diminished acknowledge
ment of America’s worst
terrorist attack and more
pleas to pay a visit with
tickets starting at $28
each.
No one can blame
COV1D this time. The
ceremony
takes place in
the open air,
where even the
Delta virus can’t
spread easily.
All participants
will wear masks.
Many or even
most will be vac
cinated.
Remember all the talk
that if we didn’t rebuild
after 9/11, the “terrorists
would have won?” The
museum has raised the
white flag to the virus
and there’s no turning
back.
What a wrongheaded,
defeatist message for
these times. New York
City lost 33,000 citizens
to COV1D-19. The pan
demic-stricken Big Apple
needs every affirmation
7/
it can get of its
inherent valor
and resilience,
qualities that
saved us on
9/11 and in the
fraught years
that followed.
The museum
is a master
piece not only
of design but of moral
clarity. Its unflinching
focus trains our attention
on a singular terror: an
unprovoked sneak attack
that instantly killed 2,996
innocent human beings,
sickened countless oth
ers, destroyed 14 million
square feet of Manhat
tan, and ravaged the Big
Apple economy.
Long after, we watched
the skies in fear of
another attack, a differ
ent brand of dread than
the fear of the virus but
every bit as terrible and
even more immediate.
Today, many younger
and newly arrived New
Yorkers have little idea
what 9/11 meant.
To treat the 20th an
niversary as business
as usual threatens to
consign the memory to
just another unpleasant
hiccup of history such
as the Dodgers leaving
Brooklyn for Los Ange
les or the 1965 power
blackout.
To be fair, the museum
alone is not to blame for
this failure. The 20th an
niversary date has been
no secret — for twenty
years. And yet Gov.
Cuomo and Mayor de
Blasio planned nothing
to make the 2021 com
memoration special. The
attack’s toll has been lost
in their hearts and minds
to the politics and phony
“science” of the current
crisis.
Despite the museum’s
very real budget crunch,
the catastrophe’s 20th
anniversary should not
be allowed to become a
shadow of its past com
memorations.
Our finest minds in
politics, philanthropy
and the arts have less
than a month to come
up with something fresh.
They need to get down to
work — now.
Steven Cuozzo is an American writer,
newspaper editor, restaurant critic,
real estate columnist, and op-ed
contributor for the New York Post.
Secret to
in life is
BY CHARLES WHATLEY
cbwhatley@hotmail.com
The ninth of John
Schrock’s 40 principles
for success in business
and life is “temper.”
The dictionary defines
it as “a particular state
of mind or feelings;”
sometimes the dic
tionary is close to
useless. But the
second defini
tion is a bit
more help
ful, “habit of
mind, espe
cially with re
spect to irritability
or patience, outbursts
of anger, or the like;
disposition: an even
temper.” And the third
definition is the “heat
of mind or passion,
shown in outbursts of
anger or resentment.”
It took three tries, but
1 finally found what 1 was
looking for in the first
place ... the “heat of
mind or passion.” Tem
per is the mental energy
that drives us; but like
driving a car, we ought
to be careful we don’t
run off the road. Temper
or passion or energy can
be a bad thing, but...
If your temper
doesn’t flare up when
you see a child being
mistreated, or see a
woman being abused,
or see a young person
being bullied, there is
something wrong with
you. 1 read somewhere
a long time ago that
the real question is
whether you control
your temper ... good?!
Or your temper con
trols you bad?! Animals
success
temper
lose their tempers, but
it’s a matter of survival
or food or territory ...
people lose their tem
pers over the color of
the carpet or how many
angels can dance on
the head of a pin?
Our Scripture Les
son is from Ephesians
4, “[26] If you become
angry, do not let your
anger lead you
into sin, and
do not stay
angry all
day. [27]
Don’t give
the Devil a
chance.”
Maybe you’ve heard
me tell about my dad,
who said on many occa
sions, “It won’t matter
which ditch you drive
into, the secret is stay
ing in the road.”
There is nothing
worse than someone
whose temper explodes
in harmful ways, un
less it’s someone who
has neither temper
nor passion for life. I
know you’ve heard the
story of the man who
had a heart attack and
died in the 11 o’clock
worship service ... the
EMTs carried out three
people before they
found the right man!
Coaches often look
for ways to get their
teams “fired up!” It
might be a good thing
if some of our churches
would get “fired up!”
Charles 'Buddy' Whatley is a
retired United Methodist pastor
serving Woodland and Bold Springs
UMC and, with Mary Ella, a mis
sionary to the Navajo Reservation
in Arizona.
Kudzu & Clay: Skunk the squirrel
Long ago, my brother
was taking a walk in
front of our house when
he noticed a small,
skin-colored blob in the
middle of the sidewalk.
On further examination,
this finger-sized blob ap
peared to be alive. Being
the dedicated ward of
nature that we were all
raised to be, he scooped
it up and brought it
home. It turned out to
be a newly born squirrel
that had fallen from its
nest, Often referred to
as a “pinkie” or “squir
rel pinkie” for obvious
reasons.
The prognosis was
not good, especially in
our house where squir
rels were a nuisance
and hunted on a daily
basis. The damage they
did to our pecan trees
and my father’s strange
fascination with skinning
animals like a western
fur trader of old put
the squirrel in a tough
position. My brother did
not give up on this little
thing and spent weeks
feeding it baby formula
with a tiny eyedropper.
Much to our surprise
the baby grew from an
amorphous pink blob
into a fuzzy baby—thus
began the reign of Skunk
the squirrel.
Squirrels are not
something one really
thinks of as a pet. I know
many folks that have
rodents for pets and it is
undeniable that there is
a certain stigma attached
to this kind of behavior.
If you go to someone’s
house and they have
a cage of rats or mice
you often question said
person’s mental stabil
ity. I am not saying that
is an appropriate way of
thought, but
let’s not kid
ourselves. I
am sure my
parents felt
the same way
when my
brother came
home with
this creature,
but over time
this little fella
caused us
to shed our
rodent preten
sions, at least
for squirrels.
Skunk,
having never known
the outside world,
adjusted very quickly to
our house. You would
think this animal would
be timid and scared of
humans, but he loved
us. He would run around
the house and find one
of us, crawl up our leg in
a spiral just as if it were
a tree, and then perch
himself right on your
shoulder. You had to take
special care you were
not wearing a sweater
when he would jump
on you or else his little
claws would become
tangled in the threads.
Even if that happened
you could untangle him
easily. He never became
frustrated. We fed him
right from our hand and
to my knowledge he
never once bit.
In many ways, Skunk
was like a dog. He was
eager to please and
enjoyed the company
of humans. He even
knew when the doorbell
rang that a new human
was showing up and he
would run to the door
and wait to greet them. If
you can imagine going to
someone’s house and a
squirrel jumping on you
the minute the
door opened
then you can
imagine the
type of fun we
had with that!
He was a
squirrel. He
had squirrel
tendencies
that Mother
Nature baked
into his kind
for eons. He
was slightly
mischievous.
He hid things
as squirrels
do. He made holes as
squirrels do. We had an
old five-gallon bucket
filled with shelled pecans
collected from our yard
and when Skunk found
this all hell broke loose.
He hid every single one
of them. He dug holes in
the sofa. He dug holes
in mattresses. He buried
things in clothes piles.
Toilet paper packages.
Desk drawers. Anywhere
he could find. And when
he was done with the
pecans he started taking
objects around the size
of a pecan and hiding
them as well. Toys.
Candy. Golf balls.
Believe it or not,
Skunk was allowed to
roam the house freely
until this point. When
things of value started
getting destroyed or
someone was pulling
out a towel and twelve
pecans fell on their head
it was time to restrict
him. My Dad made him
a little ‘house’ where he
spent the night and any
time we couldn’t directly
supervise him. When
someone let him free in
the morning he would
run out and sit on every
person still asleep until
they woke up. Trust me,
waking up with a wild
animal sitting on your
chest, staring you in the
eye, negates that first
cup of coffee.
Unfortunately, Skunk
had a tragic ending.
Somehow after a very
expensive piece of furni
ture got a hole chewed in
it, my Mom managed to
leave a vacuum running
right next to his cage for
an extended period of
time. She got ‘distracted’
and when she came back
Skunk had apparently
succumbed to a heart
attack. This, at least, is
the story we were told.
He was later interred
in the backyard next to
other fallen comrades,
in a shoebox filled with
pecans.
Nowadays, I have a
hard time dispatching
squirrels because of the
pecan-sized hole this
little guy left in my heart.
I would like to think
these little animals that
are currently assault
ing my attic could look
at me and know we are
brethren, but they do
not. Maybe Skunk was
an anomaly. I will never
know because I will
never have a pet squir
rel in my house for the
pretensions aforemen
tioned. I do know that
to this day, at least two
decades later, there are
still pieces of furniture
that get moved and a
few pecans fall out of a
hole we never knew was
there.
Chris Walter is a writer, artist,
and Barnesville native. He has just
published his first book, “Southern
Glitter.” You can find more informa
tion about his art and writings at
kudzuandclay.com.
KUDZU
& CLAY
Chris Walter
Pike County
Journal
Reporter
www.pikecountygeorgia.com
P.0. Box 789
16026 Barnesville St.
Zebulon, Ga. 30295
770.567.3446
The Pike County Journal
Reporter is the official
organ of Pike County, the
cities of Zebulon, Molena,
Meansville, Williamson
and Concord. It is
published weekly by
Hometown Newspapers
Inc. Second class
postage is paid at the
Zebulon, Ga Post Office.
Publishers: Walter and
Laura Geiger; staff:
Jennifer Taylor,
Brenda Sanchez and
Rachel McDaniel.
- r.y .
'V.X; . L is i ./-fl;
AT PIKE
BY BWAIN W. PENN
100 YEARS AGO
September 9, 1921: School opened Monday,
September 5, in Williamson with 106 students
with more expected. After several speeches, the
children were examined by Dr. I.B. Howard and
reports made to parents of their condition.
75 YEARS AGO
September 12, 1946: For several previous edi
tions, public notice was given of a new chassis for
a school bus. This week, it was for the New Hope
route bus with plans to have the bus painted and
reconditioned when the chassis arrived.
50 YEARS AGO
September 10, 1971: Pike County High School’s
first football game in its history was played Friday
night against Palmetto. Coach Ronnie Lowe led
the spirited team to a 28-6 defeat; only one player
on the team had previous football experience.
25 YEARS AGO
September 11, 1996: Since August 26, the
school system added 32 more students increasing
enrollment to 2,345. Superintendent Jim Crayton
attributed the increase to “good schools in a good
county.”