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Page 4 — Wednesday, January 17, 2024, The True Citizen
OPINIONS
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
The Pledge Of Allegiance
1 pledge, allegiance, to the flag
of the United States of America
and to the Republic for which
*it stands, one Nation under
God, indivisible, with liberty and
justice for all.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
LOOKING BACK
{this week in Burke County history}
20 YEARS AGO-JANUARY 21,2004
Board of Education member Willie Jordan was the only
member who voted not to extend Superintendent Doug
Day’s contract for another three years. Chairman Johnny
Jenkins said that under Day’s leadership “we’ve built
some excellent facilities, the system’s in good financial
shape and we haven’t had to raise the millage rate in
several years.”
Jimmy Dixon was re-elected chairman of the Burke
County Commission. Frank Williams was named vice-
chairman.
Clark and Rita Holtsberry of Waynesboro left for a
two-year teaching assignment in China. They were both
employees of O.M. Literature.
50 YEARS AGO-JANUARY 16,1973
Burke County Sheriff Ralph Elliott said that Fleming
Nair, Jr. and a female juvenile were being returned here
from Miami, Fla. to face charges connected to the October
murder of 38 year-old Frank Otis.
Officers of the Bank of Waynesboro reported to its
stockholders that the assets of the bank had exceeded $20
million. M.K. Tucker was the president of the bank, which
was chartered in 1890 with $50,000 in assets.
Dr. Joseph D. Cooley, who had practiced dentistry here
from 1908 until his retirement, died at the age of 86.
100 new safe -deposit boxes were delivered and in
stalled in the First National Bank of Waynesboro. Vice-
president Jesse Palmer, III said many of the boxes had
been reserved but most were available.
70 YEARS AGO-JANUARY 21,1954
Ten Savannah and Atlanta Railroad cars derailed here
at 3:30 a.m. Saturday. Approximately 300 feet of track
was destroyed, but no freight was damaged, according
to local railroad agent Hunter May.
Former Tax Commissioner Mrs. Frances McElmurray
Cates was rendered a bill for $49,000 for commissions
allegedly deducted in error during the years she served
in the office.
Waynesboro’s mayor and council voted to submit the
question of the sale of revenue bonds for a natural gas
system to local voters. The referendum would be held
in March.
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Don Lively
THE CORNER
I had never met the woman
before that late afternoon at
the corner. She was the sister
of one of the regular cousins
who gather on the firebreak be
tween the field and the woods,
purportedly to watch the sunset,
but the gatherings have just as
much to do with my family just
loving a get-together.
I had heard of the woman
and, of course, I'd seen pictures
of her on my cousin's Facebook
page so I recognized her right
away.
It wasn't her being there that
surprised me.
It was her greeting.
"I know you!" she called
out. "You're the reason I have
hemorrhoids!"
If you know me you know
that I'm rarely at a loss for
words, and while I momentarily
had none, I did my best.
"Thank you for that informa
tion. In all my years I've never
been greeted with those words,
or any similar ones."
Everybody howled.
The woman went on to ex
plain to me that she is a reader
of my three books, all compila-
This is how pray works:
Tink and I were one hour into
a seven-hour trip home from
Memphis. I’d been on book
tour for two, exhausting weeks
and had a stomach bug, very
rare for me. Our good friend
and house sitter, Kathy Fan
ning, is alert and doesn’t miss
a thing.
She sent a video of our min
iature donkey, Sweet Tea, who
was limping painfully around
the barn. Limping is not good
for an equine. It could be a path
to being lame and that is danger.
Now, before I tell you what
prayer miraculously produced,
I must issue this warning:
prayer is not a magic wand.
It is not filled with words that
will instantly resolve a situation
though words whispered to an
almighty power. Yes, some
times it does happen almost
instantly. Sometimes, it takes
days, weeks, or months.
Daddy, a man of remarkable
tions of my weekly scribblings
that appear right here in these
pages, and that she has on oc
casion gotten lost in my words
while sitting on the toilet for
too long, thus, I am the cause
of her malady.
After her explanation, which
drew more gales of mirthful
snorts from my kin, I had one
further response.
"Well, thank you. I think."
Let me hasten to add, the
woman, though she has lived
in the Blessed South...well...in
Florida...for years, she's still a
Yankee, born and bred in New
York. So her humor is a bit
courser that what usually ap
pears in this space. But, since
all of my genteel Southern girl
cousins and friends who were
there that day fairly hooted
with laughter, I deemed it okay
to include the story this week.
Hope you don't mind.
After all, don't most folks
read on the potty these days?
Anyway, the gatherings at
the corner started a few years
ago with just one golf cart, if
the stories are true. My little
brother Willie and his bride,
Miss Debbie, would run their
dog every evening and on one
of the runs they saw a really
pretty sunset, so they parked
and watched Ol' Sol sink behind
the western horizon.
faith, always said, “Pray about
it. Put in the Lord’s hands and
leave it with him. You don’t
need to keep praying about it.”
My faith, though, calls on me
to keep reminding the Lord of
the friend who is sick, of a tree
that is dying, or asking the path
He wants me to take.
People who don’t practice
faith or don’t believe there is a
need often make their first call
to us and ask, “Will you pray
for me?”
Sometimes, God takes a long
time to answer. For 17 years, I
prayed for the opportunity to
buy some acreage that borders
the Rondarosa. There were few
days out of those years that I did
not pray over it. Three times
I called the owner. Twice, he
steadfastly refused. Three years
later, I called again. This time
he was agreeable and named his
price: three times what the land
was worth.
My hopes were dashed.
“Well, I hope you get that much
but it won’t be from us.”
Six years later, the man was
dying and needed the money.
We bought the land at a fair
market price. God had answered
A tradition was bom.
Before long several other golf
carts or UTVs or four-wheelers
had begun to descend on the
site. Early on it was mostly we
older folks doing the gathering
and at one point, a group of the
young folks who viewed the
comer meetings as corny, did a
sneak attack on the sun-setters
with water guns and cans of
Silly String. Several of those
attackers are now regular at
tendees at the comer.
The corner, as we now refer
to the spot, has become some
what iconic in our neck of the
woods. It sits on the southeast
quadrant of the two main coun
ty roads that intersect our com
munity. The little field is the last
tillable ground of Daddy's once
large farm, still owned by some
of his children. People around
these parts know who owns it
and it's not unusual for folks
driving by and seeing us mill
ing about the various vehicles
during one of the gatherings to
honk their horns or flash their
lights. Some have even been
known to carefully ease their
full-size cars or trucks down
the tracks to join in.
Some corner gatherings are
smaller than others.
One recent late afternoon,
just before the sun disappeared,
as I turned the corner driving
HOW PRAYER WORKS
17 years of prayers. In His own
time
Now, back to Sweet Tea, our
donkey, who was ailing. As
soon as the video came in, I
panicked a bit. We called two of
our vets immediately and dis
covered both were out of town.
I called Kathy back. Kathy
is a deep seeker of prayer and
nothing is too small for her
heartfelt, believing prayers. I
explained the situation and said
to her, “Let’s pray about it.”
Together, we prayed, beg
ging God to bring a solution
and asking for it quickly. We
hung up the phone and, silently,
I prayed another couple of
minutes. Tink, on the spur of
the moment, took an exit off of
1-840. It was a one gas station
town. Thompson’s Station,
Tennessee. He pulled into the
12-gas pump area that set in
front of a country store where
several men sat in rocking
chairs, swaying and enjoying
gentle conversation.
“Well, shoot,” said Tink as
he looked for an open pump.
But all I saw was one thing: a
white, shiny truck emblazoned
on the side with the lettering,
home from work, I spotted one
single golf cart with one single
occupant. It was too far away to
see who it was so I just honked
and drove on but as I glanced
west I knew that whoever it
was out there was going to get
a glorious end to the daylight.
Other times the comer gather
ings are quite large.
On the day we said goodbye
to my big brother Urb, word had
gotten out that we would be at
the corner for one last send-off
to a fellow who touched every
one of our lives in ways that we
won't ever forget. I don't know
exactly how many people were
there but we could have taken
up an offering and had preach
ing with the crowd that showed
up. Urb was, to understate it,
one of the most colorful people,
figuratively and literally, any of
us has ever known, so it wasn't
surprising when God sent us
the most colorful sunset we'd
had in weeks.
That's how things work out
our way.
So if you're driving by and
see us, feel free to stop.
You'll be welcome.
At the comer.
Don Lively is a freelance
writer and author of several
books of Southern humor. He
lives in Shell Bluff. Email Don
at Livelycolo@aol.com.
“Tennessee Equine Hospital.”
Without a word, I bolted from
the car, clutching my phone in
my hand.
A pretty, young girl with
long, blonde hair, sitting in the
track, took me to find the vet
who was putting air in the tires.
I explained the situation: we
were passing through, our vets
were out of town, and Sweet
Tea was sick. I showed him
the video. In two seconds, he
told me what to do. Later, his
advice was seconded by two
veterinarians.
I gushed my gratitude and
he, tall, lean and handsome,
nodded as he started to walk
toward the men on the porch.
His confident walk, size, and
sunglasses reminded me of Dale
Earnhardt. He stopped, cocked
his head and grinned. “When
you come to Tennessee, that’s
what you get.”
That’s how prayer works.
Ronda Rich is the best-selling
author of the hit novel, St. Si
mons Island: A Stella Bankwell
Mystery. Visit www.rondarich.
com to sign up for her free
weekly newsletter.
Ronda Rich