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& EDITORIALS
Declare among the nations, and publish, and set up a standard;
publish, and conceal not. - Jeremiah 50:2
2019, 2018, 2017, 2016 winner: Editorial Page excellen
2019, 2018 winner: Best Headline Writing
2019 winner: Best Community Service
2019 winner: Best Layout and Design
2019 winner: Best Serious Column - Don Daniel
ON THE PORCH by Will Davis
A life well lived...
M any times when someone dies at the age of
96, there aren’t many people left to attend
the funeral. They have outlived their peers
and most of their closest relations have
departed ahead of them.
That was not the case at the funeral for Thera Head last
Monday, Sept. 26 at Oglethorpe Baptist Church.
Mrs. Head was the matriarch of a
large, loving family. She is survived
by four children, 10 grandchildren
and 24 great grandchildren. They
filled the front pews on Monday.
Friends and fellow church members
who knew and loved her in rural
Macon County filled the rest. Thera
Head loved people, and you could
sense them returning that love in
the sanctuary on Monday.
She was not a Generation X or Z woman. She never
had a career nor sought to be an “influencer” on social
media. She was a Greatest Generation woman. Her influ
ence was wielded more quietly and yes, more powerfully,
through the faith and love she shared with her husband,
children and her church.
Her husband Allen was drafted into World War II
shortly after their marriage. She prayed him through D-
Day where he earned the Purple Heart, being wounded
in battle.
After he returned home, they had five children, and
Thera instilled in them a love for God and for the Bible.
Allen had a successful career in life insurance. Family
members say Mrs. Thera stood by him despite too many
boys’ weekends by the river and
other shenanigans.
By the time I knew them, Mr. Head
was a deacon and Sunday school
teacher. That, the preacher said at
Monday’s funeral, was largely a result
of Mrs. Thera’s influence.
Their relationship and the change
in his life was a perfect example of
1 Peter 3:1-2: “You wives must
accept the authority of your hus
bands. Then, even if some refuse
to obey the Good News, your
godly lives will speak to them
without any words. They will be won over by observing
your pure and reverent lives.”
While a changed man, Mr. Allen still had a mischie
vous grin and even after retirement, loved to wheel and
deal at the family’s second-hand store in downtown
Oglethorpe. It was called The Warehouse. He died in
2009.
Mrs. Thera remained to love and care for her family
through weddings, childbirths, triumphs and tragedies.
Yes, she knew suffering. Mrs. Thera’s daughter Cheryl
Blizzard, the only one of her five children who lived in
Oglethorpe, developed Pick’s disease, a horrendous brain
disorder similar to Alzheimers. She was the heir apparent
to Thera as the one who kept the family together, plan
ning reunions, cooking meals, loving on family mem
bers. But she died in 2017. And then one of Mrs. Thera’s
grandsons, Courson Saunds, who had young children of
his own and had served in the military, died on his way
to work in an auto accident near Darien in 2021.
Through it all, Mrs. Thera was an example in suffer
ing. She grieved. She cried. But she also prayed. And she
found reasons to give thanks to God despite the pain.
Mrs. Thera’s godly influence is felt even 70 miles away
from her home here in Monroe County. Seven of her
descendants live here. She was the grandmother of my
wife, Cassie Davis, and of another Forsyth resident,
Cherie Bennett, and the great grandmother to their five
children.
Mrs. Thera was as good to those of us who married
See ON THE PORCH . Page 5A
Thera Head
is published every week by The Monroe County Reporter Inc.
Will Davis, President • Robert M. Williams Jr., Vice President
Cheryl S. Williams, Secretary-T reasurer
DRAWING ON THE NEWS by AF Branco
REECES PIECES by Steve Reece
Newspaper printing press
S ometimes it can be good to be
poor. If I had been born into
a rich family, I might have
missed the great pleasures of
a bowl of pinto beans served with a
slab of hot cornbread. I might never
have learned to hunt or fish not just
for sport, but for survival.
My dad might have bought me a
late-model car if he had been blessed
with a lot of money. Instead, he sold
me a piece of junk Ford Pinto for $ 1
and taught me how to take it apart and
put it back together again in excellent
drivable condition.
If my parents had been wealthy,
I would’ve been enrolled in some
high-class private school and taught to
conform to the “proper” way of learn
ing. Instead, I became an independent
thinker and gained most of my educa
tion from trial and error and learning
from the same mistakes made over
and over.
Being poor as a child was a lot of fun
on rare occasions. My two barefoot
brothers and I never encountered any
rich boys wearing high-dollar shoes
when we spent the occasional Satur
day afternoon having a great time in
the junkyard of our little Oklahoma
town; that’s for sure. We never had the
money to go to the Saturday afternoon
Western at the movie theater but
winning an imaginary race behind the
wheel of a parked wrecked car
more than made up for it.
My brothers and I never
crossed paths with any kids
from privileged families when
we went on long hikes down
long dirt roads, sometimes
climbing on the backs of
bored cattle and having a
mini rodeo of our own.
Cigarettes were only 25
cents a pack back then but
even at that price, they were way too
expensive for three young eager-to-
leam-how-to-smoke poor boys. We
learned the evil vice by rolling our own
tobacco using whatever thin paper we
could find. Maybe paper ripped from
a page from a schoolbook or the local
newspaper which was always sure to
send us into a coughing fit. No one in
our group smoked fat cigars or those
fancy marijuana cigarettes. I remem
ber once we got our butts tore up
because our old man caught us with
his pipe trying out his Prince Albert
tobacco behind his upholstery shop.
Unfortunately, I turned into a pretty
good smoker who now buys over
priced store-bought premium brand
cigarettes.
If my family had more of a budget,
I probably would have never gotten a
job at the age of 12 delivering newspa
pers walking from house to house for
the Altus Times-Democrat. I would
never have had the experience of in
haling that wonderful smell of the ink
as I stood at the loading dock of the
circulation department waiting
for my papers. I remember
watching that huge, magnifi
cent printing press chum out
newspapers faster than I could
count. And I would never have
met those wonderful charac
ters who lived along my
paper route and who I
now sometimes use as
models in my stories.
One Christmas my
dad waited until Christmas Eve and
had to rush to the thrift store to buy
enough presents for his wife and six
children. He had been working all day
and it was already late in the evening,
sides
but he made it into the
store with just minutes
to spare. His Christmas
budget was tight so he
had to take his time
to pick out things he
could afford, keeping
a running tab in his
mind dropping previ
ously owned gifts into
his basket as he went
along.
The manager of the store
locked the door behind the
last remaining customer of the day ex
cept for my dad who was still ponder
ing and doing his math in the toy aisle.
My dad looked up from a baby doll he
had picked out for my sister and saw
the manager standing at the end of the
aisle with his arms crossed in an impa
tient stance. My father stammered and
said, “I’m sorry. I had to work late. I’m
almost finished. I know you want to
get home. It’s Christmas Eve.”
The manager smiled at my old man
and replied, “Yes, sir. It sure is. How
many children are you buying for?”
My dad gave him the number and
the manager told him, “Look, I’ve had
a really great year and you’re my last
customer on Christmas Eve. You just
take your time and pick out whatever
you need and take it home. No charge.
Merry Christmas to you and your
family’’
Of course, my dad was a Reece man
made of proud stock and refused the
man’s generosity. Instead, he gave the
manager all the money he had in his
pocket which the manager reluctantly
accepted.
That year my present was a used
rubber printing kit that was missing a
few letters. Still, I was able to create my
own little newspaper that I filled with
local gossip and sold to our neighbors
for a mere 5 cents a copy.
Steve Reece is a writer for the Reporter
and a known crime fighter. Email him
at stevereece@gmail.com.
CAROLYN S CORNER by Carolyn Martel
OUR STAFF
Will Davis
Publisher/Editor
publisher@mymcr.net
Tammy Rafferzeder
Business Manager
business@mymcr.net
Steve Reece
Reporter
stevereece@gmail.com
Diane Glidewell
Community Editor
news@mymcr.net
Donna Wilson
Advertising Manager
ads@mymcr.net
Amy Haisten
Creative Director
mymcrgraphics@gmail.com
Official Organ of Monroe
County and the City of Forsyth
50 N. Jackson St., PO Box 795 • Forsyth,
GA 31029 • Periodicals Postage Paid at
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Deadlines noon on Friday prior to issue. Comments featured on opinion pages are the creation of
the writers, the do not necessarily reflect the opinions of The Reporter management.
Publication No. USPS 997-840
Use a little good news today?
In 1983, “A Little Good News,”
sung by recording artist Anne Mur
ray, played on radio stations
across the nation. Murray’s
song struck a cord with
listeners when they heard
the lyrics “We sure could
use a little good news today’’
The song paints a picture of
society’s woes: bad economy,
drug addiction, crime,
assassination, hostage
situations and people
dying in vain.
If the news was distressing in 1983,
it’s even worse today. The human
suffering and devastation caused by
Hurricane Ian has dominated the
news recently. Also, we are bom
barded daily with news about the
escalation of crime and violence.
And how can we forget the day-
to-day reminders about
inflation, the high cost of
food and gas, the inept
leadership in Washington,
D.C., the horrific deaths
caused by fentanyl and the
never ending crisis at the
border.
So, how do we get
through these difficult
and troubling times?
Aside from the en
couragement and support we receive
from friends and family, learning
to lean upon God is crucial for our
physical and spiritual well-being.
The Apostle Peter, who learned to
overcome his own crippling fear and
anxiety, exhorts us: “Cast all your
anxiety on him (Jesus), because he
cares for you” 1 Pet. 5:7 NIV. When
we cast our cares over unto Jesus,
we receive His supernatural comfort
and peace.
Another encouraging verse to
meditate upon is Psalms 46:1: “God
is our refuge and strength, a very
present help in trouble.” As Savior,
Jesus not only offers us the precious
gift of salvation and freedom from
the bondage of sin, He becomes
our refuge and source of strength in
difficult times. Now, that’s what I call
good news!
Carolyn Martel of Forsyth is the re
tired long-time advertising manager for
the Reporter. Email her at carolynmar-
tell@bellsouth.net.