That may sound like a strange question but after you already have a whole hoard move in on you, what’s a few more?

I recently was filming a movie outside Nashville when I noticed that I had an extreme need to reach down a scratch my leg again and again. I wasn’t even filming outside where you might expect them to pay a call. I just had picked the critter up along the way.

I had forgotten what a hair raising experience it is to find oneself as the battle ground upon which these critters wage war.

They are like an army quietly waiting for a battle front to move into their theater of operations and once they do the chiggers slowly advance surmounting the shoes, the socks making their way as if they were advancing towards the German front leaving behind little command posts as they go.

The memory of childhood scrubbings, dousing the shoes in sulfur powder, and covering those command posts with calamine lotion are all etched in my memory.

Thankfully there was just one lone scout that caught me in Nashville, there was one time when I sat at my newspaper desk a few years ago, I noticed that I seemed to have itches popping up in places I didn’t even know I had. Later that evening, the plain truth became apparent.

In the fulfillment of my patriotic journalistic duties, I had crossed over into the sovereign nation of Chiggerland. They were so put out by my invasion, they sent out their best commandos to repel my attack and wouldn’t you know it, I left before those critters found their way back home.

In any event, by suppertime they had built new outposts from head to toe.

In trying to thwart their assault, one simple remedy came to mind — fight fire with fire. No, that wasn’t it. To scratch or not to scratch, that is the question. It wasn’t that either but I think the affirmative won.

I got up and rushed into the bathroom as the stroke of memory from childhood hit me, the way to handle this was to find a bottle of fingernail polish and paint the white flag of surrender on each fortification so they knew I was giving in.

The only negative thing is the one remaining bottle I found left amongst my late mother’s things was red. I just could not quite bring myself to painting myself all over with red fingernail polish. So, I decided, first thing in the morning, I would get what everyone needs in their fight against dem critters, clear fingernail polish and some benedryl.

What dem critters do not really know is when you paint those little flags of surrender you are really attacking dem with your own little secret weapon and slowly they give up.

So in any event, I am happy to report that on almost all fronts, the chiggers lost the battle, although I made every effort to steer clear of any opportunities for them to bring in reinforcements.

Just remember a scratch in time saves nine, no, that’s not it. One good scratch deserves another, that’s not it either. Well there must be some lesson learned here. If I figure it out, I will let you know for right now I had better run I think that one little critter from Nashville is acting up again. Now where did I put that furniture polish, no that’s not it.


08/10/11

A sweeping success

Performing on the road has its great moments and even a few that are less great. Needless to say there are often things to laugh at along the way.

One of my devoted readers said that I have been too serious of late and needed to spread some cheer so here is one of my favorite experiences along the way. Maybe it will bring you a smile.
I was introduced to a large hall of about 1,000 folks gathered to see our show. We were in the midst of singing “Little Girl of Mine in Tennessee” when a older feller about six foot tall in tattered blue coveralls and carrying a broom sweeps his way across the stage in front of the band, facing the band, all the time paying no mind to the crowd behind him or the band in front of him.

His slightly slumped appearance, along with his total disregard for his surroundings and his intense concentration on his task, began to draw some scattered giggles from the audience.

I imagined many were wondering what I or he would do next.
As I realized he was not just passing through but had decided to set up housekeeping in front of us, I stopped the tune and said, “Excuse me, were trying to do a show here,” and the feller replied “A show?”
He turned slowly towards the audience and waved as he smiled from ear to ear, saying “Hello, hello,” not hardly missing anyone as he greeted the crowd.

“Do you mind, these people paid a lot of money to see our show,” I said.
He walked over to me at the mike and looked out in the audience.
“These people paid money to see you?” he asked.
“Yes, they did,” I said.
“Miracles never cease,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, before realizing what had passed. “Heyyyy.”

“I use to play in a band, a big band. We worked all over New York, Chicago,” he said.
“Really what did you call your band?” I asked.
“The broom boys,” he replied.
“The broom boys,” I said
“Yeah, we really cleaned up,” he said.

“Did you sing with that group?” I asked. He said, “Yes.”
“Would you like to sing with us?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve got so every time I sing I cry,” he said.
“Then why do you sing?” I asked.
“So I can cry,” he said.
“Why do you cry?” I asked.
“Cause I can’t sing,” he said.

“Do you think I could join your band?” he asked.
“Well I don’t know. All these boys had to go through an interview,” I said.
“I can do that,” he said.
I agreed and started by asking, “What’s your name?”
“I was named after my Ma and Pa,” he said.
“Alright, what was their name?” I said.
“Pa was Ferdinand and Ma was Liza,” he said.
“So, what did they name you?” I asked.
“Ferdiliza,” he said.

“Where were you born?” I asked.
“Kentucky,” he replied.
“What part?” I asked.
“All of me. You didn’t think I came in pieces did you?” he said.

“Why did you leave Kentucky?” I asked.
“Couldn’t bring it with me,” he said.

“Where do you live now?” I asked.
“I live with a friend,” he said.
“Where does you friend live,” I asked.
“He lives with me,” he said.
“Where do you both live?” I asked.
“We live together,” he said.

“Where were your forefathers born?” I asked.
“My what?” he asked.
“Your forefathers. Where were they born?” I asked.
“I ain’t got but one father,” he said.
“Everybody has forefathers,” I said. “Mine came from Scotland, Germany and England.”
“Well if I got four fathers, three of them ain’t never been home,” he said.

“So do I get the job?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know let me think on it,” I told him.
“OK, but don’t hurt yourself,” he replied.

“Hey, that’s no way to talk to someone if you want a job,” I said.
“Your right, I better get back to work,” he said.
I stopped him and asked one more question.
“When you say things like that, doesn’t a still small voice tell you you’re doing something wrong?”
“No, its usually a big loud voice. Have you met my wife?” he said.

“In the future I hope you are more careful about where you try to clean up,” I told him.
“Oh, I will be next time. I’ll bring a bigger broom,” he commented as he glided off stage.

Comedy has always been a key part of performing in live shows: the antics of clowns in circuses; the banter and quips of comics in medicine shows and vaudeville; to the jokes we hear offered in sitcoms today. Country comedians are a special breed; I am honored to in my life played both the comedian and the straight man roles of the comedy team with many funny people. There is nothing funnier than two people working off each other’s comedic timing in front of an audience. I put together this comedy routine originally for the talented comedic actor Sonny Shroyer. I hope that a couple of the lines brought you a smile.

— © 1992 Peach Picked Publishing. Used by permission.


08/03/11

Did you ever wonder if 1+1 really is 2?
 
I often wonder what happened to math in America. I know I had my own trouble with it when I was in school. They always wanted you to follow some method of reaching the answer and show how you reached the answer. Even if you got the right answer, if you didn’t go at it the right way you were wrong.

I realize that we were taught these approaches to aid us in developing a sense of reasoning and help us learn to solve problems.

I greatly admire those underpaid, under supported patriots of education, our teachers. I know many of them took their time to help me through some tough subjects. I have seen first hand, as I have spoken to children around the country, teachers going above and beyond to help out a student. So, please do not take what I am about to talk about as a commentary on the ability of teachers.

I recently went into one of those grocery stores that gives you a card. They scan it before ringing up the things you are buying. If you watch those prices closely as they ring items up, this store is particularily frustrating because the register shows the full price and then shows the deduction for their store savings.

After watching all the prices, the tally had overcharged me around one dollar and twelve cents. I then proceeded to customer service where I shared with them my problem.
I had bought six or twelve of one item which was on discount and one other item. Adding the cost up in my head, I told the clerk what it was suppose to be plus whatever the tax was in that county. This figure subtracted from what I paid the cashier would have been the amount of my refund. The next twenty minutes involved two clerks and either an assistant manager or store manager. They all took the figures I had given them from my head and repeatedly added them up on their calculator. In the end they gave me a refund of over two dollars.

Inspite of my attempts to convince them they didn’t owe me that much, I could not convince them. I even took a piece of paper, wrote the numbers down and added them for them. I finally took the refund and went on my way. I figure that twenty minutes must be worth that extra little bit.
Unfortunately, what I have just described is a sad trend all across our country. Folks just don’t seem to be able to do basic everyday math problems without the aid of a calculator or cash register. How many times have you walked into a store to buy a candy bar or something, handed the cashier a dollar, and they had difficulty figuring out your change. Now, I’m not saying that we all have to be math genuises.

My granddad Bill was a farmer most of his life. He went west and was a cowboy in the late 1800’s. If he went to school, it was the school of life. When it came to the math he needed to raise cattle and hogs, grow and sell crops, buy and sell land, in his head he could figure better than most accountants could with a calculator.

When I was little, my parents made sure I could add, subtract, multiply and divide before they even sent me off to first grade. So those are tools I carry with me. These basics at times were a disadvantage to me in those previously mentioned math problems which required a certain method to be followed. But all in all I owe my parents and teachers a great debt of giving me the basics.

Maybe folks just depend to much upon calculators. It is easier. I use them myself, but usually just to double check my own solution when adding a chain of numbers. In recent years, I have found myself doubting my own answers derived from figuring in my head. Not that I’ve been wrong that much, but the calculator is so much easier. And it’s never wrong. Just look how well it worked at that grocery store. If I could just find another 999,999 clerks using calculators like that, I could retire.

07/27/11

Friends indeed

I have often been asked what drew me to bluegrass and Southern gospel music when I could have went so many different directions with my musical talents.
I could say it was the way that the instruments and voices work together to achieve a synthesis of sound and texture that simply elates my senses.

Once I get beyond the excitement I attach to the music itself, the people actually made these genres more than just music for me but established for me a way life.
It was the camaraderie of the musicians and singers that gave me the encouragement to keep trying and growing with every jam session.

Beyond the music, the people helped me be the person that I am today. It is not unusual to develop family bonds with fellow musicians and band members on the road. However, in these styles of music those bonds often carry over to the nice folks who regularly attend the concerts and festivals.

I often said that I was blessed with great parents, but through music I had numerous other people who took me into their homes and families and treated me as if I was their son. Clara and the late Earl Register of Columbus, Ga., are those kind of people. I knew no matter where I was if they were there if there was something I needed — a place to stay, advice, a meal or just a helping hand — all I needed to do was ask. Dottie and Bryant “Woody” Wood of Silver Springs, Fla., are another couple that is like parents to me. Their daughters often joke with me about there being more pictures of me in their house than there are of them.

There are many that through the years have become an extended part of my family. One couple that played a vital role in my life is the late Dan and Betty Needham. I recall that Dan and Betty were originally from the Midwest. Dan was a quiet, hard-working man through the week, but on the weekends the couple went from bluegrass festival to bluegrass festival selling hats, belt buckles, silver jewelry and leather items among other things. As we traveled the same way with our musical wares, the friendship we created became an ever-present sense of strength.

I see Dan standing under the blue tarp that covered their wares. He raises the hammer and pounds it on the silver letter imprint “R” as he places my name in a leather belt. Betty, a jovial person, helps me select a bronze fiddle belt buckle that complements the belt that Dan is completing. Dan’s no-nonsense approach to life gave me insights into getting things done with less talk. Both of them were strong in character and dedicated to what they believed in.

Because of those beliefs, we thought we could make a real difference in the world of bluegrass by improving communication and getting promoters and acts to work together better. From our efforts, the Southeastern Bluegrass Association was born and continues thriving today.

I remember Betty as we took the time to create a special belt buckle as a gift for Bill Monroe. She knew how important that was to me. Monroe wore that buckle for years. He proudly wore it in Ricky Skaggs’ “Country Boy” music video. As he danced, that buckle just shined.
As I traveled from show to show, so many times they welcomed me into their motor home to spend the night. I would wake up to the smell of Betty frying bacon and eggs.
Many people became so accustomed to seeing me with them many assumed they were my parents, and Betty lovingly called me her “son.” When they decided to move into the country in Bartow County from Roswell, I pitched in and helped them make the move. I purchased some of the items they no longer desired to keep, and today they are constant reminders of our friendship. I visited them several times through the years at their new home.

As I began working in television, my appearances on the local festival circuit declined as my music branched into other parts of the country in new and different types of venues. After the TV show was over, music still carried me in a different direction that did not keep us as close as we once were. I tried to keep in contact through fan club newsletters, little notes and Christmas cards, but it would never be the same as it once was.

So as life changed, I didn’t get to see Dan, Betty, and so many others that were part of my extended family. To me, they are all still stopped in time at the last festival that we shared together. I still see the smiling faces that would come over them as I arrived and they welcomed me or the sincere desire to see me again as I left.

I always felt there would be another visit that we just never seemed to get to make. Sadly, so many have passed without me even knowing. As the years continue to roll by, the fondness for them and so many others in my heart remains within me.

I wish I could sit down with them once more outside the motor home at the end of a busy bluegrass festival day and feel the peace roll over as the quiet overtakes the concert area as we laugh and joke about the events of the day.
I can remember sitting there and hearing the first strains of a banjo playing somewhere in the distance. They knew that meant it would not be long until I would pull out my fiddle and trek off into the darkness looking for the sounds of music.

Betty would say, “Have fun. We’ll leave the door open for you.” I would go off and play a few hours and quietly tiptoe back in about 2 or 3 a.m.

My bed would be made, waiting for me.

Thank you, Dan and Betty, for being there for me and to all those who welcomed me into their families and helping me become the man that I am today. Thank you to all those who shared a meal, a place to stay, words of advice, and a helping hand, for your gift to me helped to make me a better person. While our days are no longer shared, you are always in my heart.

If someone you seldom see has made a difference in your life, I encourage you to tell them today.

07/20/11

The miracle of a migraine

With each passing year all of us have dates that we mark in our minds or hearts as important.

As I reach the end of August each year my thoughts reflect on the last days of my late father, Floyd, who passed on Aug. 30, 1987.

In his last days, Dad faced a fierce but short battle with lung cancer. Years of smoking had led him into a skirmish I know he did not want to face at the young age of 54.

On Aug. 29, I arose early to take a school exam. Upon returning from school my father asked me to drive him about 30 miles away to look at a used riding lawnmower.

It had been just six weeks since he had been diagnosed.

They told him if treatments were successful he could have five years more to share with us. As with most people who undergo chemotherapy, he experienced a rough six weeks. His once perfect hair, which as a child I had so many times seen him carefully take his black comb from his pocket and straighten the ridge at the front of his head, now was gone and his body was almost a shell of the strong man I had grown to love and depend on in so many ways.

Dad used the trip for the lawnmower to tell me how proud he was of me and shared some hopes for my future.

We drove and I listened.

He said that he enjoyed the years of helping me as road manager as I traveled on the road playing music. He and Mom took care of the countless details which were needed out there that we never even knew about.

I wish I could remember every word, but I can’t.

Perhaps in many ways I was trying to block what he said because in my heart I knew this was his way of telling me goodbye.

I do not know how he knew his time was nearing. I later found out he had spent much of the previous day doing the same with my Mom. He was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my brother, who lived out of town, so he could also speak with him.

We checked out the mower and of course we did not buy it. We went on our way back to the house.

Upon returning, I prepared to leave for a show. I was performing at the annual Gospel Gold Festival with the Marksmen quartet in Dahlonega.

We did our show around 7 p.m., then I visited with folks around the record table signing a few autographs. The Florida Boys, one of my early TV heroes, were scheduled to perform at 10 p.m., so I was going to wait to see them for the first time.

As I sat at the table, I began to develop a tremendous migraine. As nausea set in, I knew I had to leave and make the two hour drive back home.

I turned to the Marksmen leader, Earle Wheeler, and said “I’ve got to go now, if I don’t I will not be able to make it.”

The symptoms progressively got worse on the trip home but I pressed on through the darkness.

As I pulled onto Warwick Circle, all the lights in my house were on. I rushed in to find nobody home. There was a note on the kitchen table from my mom, which said “Gone to Hospital.” On the phone were two urgent messages from her. I jumped in my truck and rushed to the hospital.

As I entered the hospital I was ushered quickly to the seventh floor. I saw a lady in the distance near the pay phone. I did not even recognize her as my mother. The weight of the circumstances were heavy on her shoulders.

My father insisted on spending his time not in a hospital room but in the patient’s day room.

I arrived just in time to share my father’s last hour before God called him home. Mom and I held his hands as he literally walked into that good night. And he did walk straight into God’s arms.

When I reached the door to our house earlier that evening, that headache and all the symptoms which had beckoned me home were gone.

I was sent a message to come home through God’s telephone.

If God had not placed upon me that affliction, I would have stayed and enjoyed the show and would have missed being with my Dad in those final moments.

That migraine was a miracle to me that helped me to experience what life and death is really about; it’s about the people we love and how we share our time together.

07/13/11

The master's fiddle bow is still

I recently heard with great sadness of the passing of one of my fiddling heroes and a friend – Kenny Baker (1926-2011) following a stroke.

As I look back upon those who influenced me with their fiddling, he is definitely in my personal top five and when it comes to the industry as a whole; he is the most respected and prolific of his generation.

My first exposure to the fiddler from Jenkins, Kentucky was through watching him perform with Bill Monroe, The Father of Bluegrass Music, where he spent 23 years of his professional life.

As a child I sat hour after hour by our mahogany RCA stereo cabinet picking up the needle on “Jerusalem Ridge” or “Festival Waltz” from one of his many record albums and moving it back over and over again trying to capture in my mind and in my fingers one of his fiddle licks.

While I tried to emulate his skill and sound, I’ll be first to admit I have never reached the goal though I keep trying.
Kenny was in his 23rd year performing as a partner with the late legendary Dobro player Josh Graves when we sat down for a long interview in 2006. He fondly referred to this period as the one he most enjoys from his career.

“It built up my confidence a lot,” he said. “We’ve never had a hard word. We’ve had boys working with us all the time and never had a group that couldn’t get along. Josh is best man I ever worked with.”

During this period the duo was part of a group called The Masters also featuring Jesse McReynolds and Eddie Adcock. That group garnered critical acclaim, Grammy nominations and played in some of the most distinct cultural centers of the country.

His long and steady career as a bluegrass and country fiddler is an amazing feat considering that he started his musical endeavor as a guitar picker in the small Virginia town of Bold Camp.

“I learned to play guitar from an old black man there at home, a peanut vendor, he played his guitar in open G tuning,” he said.

But it was his father’s fiddle that called from him each day from its case.

His father, Thaddeus Earl Baker, played fiddle for square dances in their area.

“I never saw my dad play a show tune,” he said. “When he played, his bowing was different than any person I ever saw. I wanted to play fiddle so bad. I had to steal my daddy’s fiddle out when he’d be at work.”

Young Kenny at age eight thought that his musical larceny was going unnoticed but he left signs behind.

“I use to get it and go up stairs crawl out on the back of the house through a window and sit on the roof and try to play that fiddle,” he said. “That was the only place I could hide. Every time I’d get the fiddle if it’s was three minutes I’d play it or half-hour or two hours. One thing I did learn is to put mute on fiddle so it wasn’t too loud.”

But his father always seemed to know what he did and finally it all came to a head.

“One evening my dad came in and I had put the fiddle back in that case and he’d been on me four or five times,” he said. “He opened that case and looked. Got the bow out and he showed me the stains where I was holding that bow way up (on the stick). I was grabbing the bow up way high above the frog. ‘What you are doing is damaging my bow every time you grab it up in the middle,’ he told me.
“I’d sit out there regardless of how hot it was,” he said. “I didn’t pay that weather no mind and maybe I did perspire a little bit on it. He grabbed that bow and held it up to me and said every bit of this hair in this bow is made to be used. If you have to do this don’t let me catch you grabbing my bow up like you have been.

“He showed me how to hold that bow. I don’t hold the bow like a lot of people, my thumb is under that frog,” he said.

While serving in the Navy in World War II the guitar player was urged into fiddling for military square dances which helped him move closer to what was to be his life’s calling.

The International Bluegrass Hall of Fame member is probably best known for his long career at the side of Bill Monroe. The Kentucky fiddler set himself a part from the rest of fiddlers by creating a style and sound of his own which started by sitting on the roof of his family home in Virginia sawing the hours away on his father’s fiddle.

He worked with Don Gibson at WNOX in Knoxville for four or five years in the early 1950s, he said.

“That is where I met Bill (Monroe),” he said. “Bill told me if you ever get dissatisfied working down here. You come to Nashville. Don’t call me just come on. That is the very words he told me. I believe he had Gordon Terry playing fiddle and Joe Stuart comes in there somewhere.

“I came to Bill around 1954-55. I’d go down and work a month or so and go back to mines,” he said. “Bill called me and told me he wanted to help him record. I went to my superintendent. Every coal company had their own doctor. Just go up tell Doc Perry you want to be off a few days. I went and he gave me a slip and sent one down to the superintendent. I was gone about 30 days to do that and Bobby Hicks, another good fiddle player; he was in the army at that time and came in on furlough. That’s when we did “Scotland” and “Panhandle Country.” Bobby and me did that. I can’t remember the songs we did but it came out pretty decent I thought.

“I enjoyed working with Bill we always got a long good,” he said.

He was with him twice as long as any other Blue Grass Boy. I had the honor of getting to spend some time around Kenny when Bill Monroe took me under his wing. I enjoyed getting to see the master work up close and pick up a few of his licks along the way. When Monroe brought me on stage for a feature appearance, Kenny would generally step off stage and allow me to shine in the moment. I always respected him for that. He could have easily overridden my meager talents but instead he gave the teenager a chance.

When Kenny and Bill parted ways in 1984, his departure became a thing of legend in the bluegrass industry.
Kenny simply said the whole thing arose over a disagreement between he and Bill over Bill not providing Kenny an itinerary for their tour to Japan after several requests.

Kenny made his departure from the stage in Jemison, Alabama when Bill asked him to play the signature tune “Jerusalem Ridge,” Kenny decided that was that, chose not to play the tune, left the stage and thus with those footsteps ended an era in bluegrass music.

I had the great fortune or misfortune depending on your prospective to follow Kenny. Bill selected me to join the Blue Grass Boys, his first addition after Kenny’s departure. How could I ever fill such shoes? There was no way but I gave it my best shot and had it not been for those hours of sitting beside Kenny Baker records, I probably couldn’t have done what I did.

Kenny has made his musical mark by recording hundreds of fiddle tunes that are now emulated by fiddlers around the world including his three favorite tunes “Freda” from his 1972 “Kenny Baker Country” County Records album, “McClanahan’s Reel” and “Bluegrass in the Backwoods” from his 1977 “Frost on the Pumpkin” County Records album.

His most recent releases were “Cotton Baggin’” and “Spider Bit the Baby” from Oms Records. Fiddler Blaine Sprouse joined him on both.

Kenny certainly thrilled my fiddler’s heart each and every time I heard him pull the horsehair of that now stilled bow across the strings. He was laid to rest in Burdine, Ky.  Kenny is survived by his widow Audrey; two sons, Kenneth Jr. and Johnny Lee Baker; siblings, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Give yourself a treat - buy a Kenny Baker recording and listen to a true master.

07/06/11

Life's turns and funning with Andy Andrews

In Hollywood, performers oftentimes find their paths crossing professionally while never actually meeting one another. Actors can perform in films or TV shows on different days, musicians and singers can record on the same song in different studios in different cities.

About a decade ago, my people – oh, that’s another thing, in Hollywood you have people such as agents, managers, publicists and assistants. So anyway, my people told me that one of my show concepts was in development for the PAX-TV network which then was a leading network of family offerings such as “Doc” starring Billy Ray Cyrus and other wholesome shows.

The show was to be a starring vehicle for comedian Andy Andrews, and, of course, part of my deal included a recurring role for me in addition to being the show’s creator.

Today, Andy is a best-selling author and inspirational speaker. Of course, he is still very funny. I enjoyed the opportunity recently to meet Andy for the very first time at the Georgia Municipal Association Annual Conference in Savannah, Ga.  As keynote speaker, he was both engaging and entertaining. This once homeless youth from L.A. - that’s Lower Alabama - used his unique life experiences, Southern charm and his comedic story telling ability to reach inside of you and help you look at yourself in a new light.

Photo: Georgia Municipal Association


The son of a minister who lost both of his parents at the age of 19, hits a solid note as he shares a comedic memory of a musical performance of “Amazing Grace” in his father’s pulpit that left a lasting impression on his posterior and interior. This phenomenally well-read speaker brings to the forefront a point that I have lived my life knowing – our actions affect every one. Like the ripple in a pond, it travels in our time and through the years to those yet to come.

The love he shares for his fellow man is apparent in his enthusiasm and his topics. It is even greater in context, when he reminds us, that he is expecting the best of all of us, because ultimately what we do will impact the world in which his children will live.

I think for me that is the most effective message – all we do shapes the world we and all children will face and this is true of every action, even our simplest personal decision.
It was a honor to finally meet Andy, especially to confirm that the story I heard from my people so many years ago matched the story his people had told him. It was. He went on to add that obviously PAX passed on both of us.
I am proud to say though, especially after hearing this inspirational orator, that for a little while our paths ran parallel awaiting the day they finally crossed.  I would have been proud to create and act in a show with him.

While trying to share my enthusiasm over hearing him, I have not tried to steal any of his thunder. So,  I encourage you to read his work by visiting his website www.andyandrews.com and buying one of his books. His latest “The Final Summit” is now available. Of course, there are plenty to choose. He is one of the truly grounded people who can inspire us to be better.



06/29/11


Laughter is the Best Medicine
 
 
When I find myself frustrated with the things that come my way, there are always two places I go. First, the word of God. Second, to God’s gift to the world, comedy. God must have a sense of humor; just look at all the great things he gives us to laugh at.

When I was little, I always looked forward to “The Red Skelton Show.” When the network finally took it off, I remember being very upset. I remember literally rolling in the floor and laughing till it hurt at the routines and characters of this master entertainer.

As a musician, the craftsmanship of musical comedy of the late Victor Borge still fascinates me.

These skilled conveyors of mirth made me and millions of others laugh without bad language, lewd comments or off-color humor.

So many people have made me feel better in my life with just a few minutes of their artistry.

The situation comedies which I have seen a thousand times still can take me away and lighten my heart. Shows like “The Beverly Hillbillies,” the network did not envision the impact those characters would have on America and the world. I am blessed to know Donna Douglas “Elly Mae Clampett.” She and Buddy Ebsen, Max Baer, Jr., and Irene Ryan have brought me endless hours of feeling good.
Irene Ryan’s “Granny” became so much a part of my childhood that her real life passing affected me as if she was a member of my family. I still have the newspaper clipping in my Bible after 28 years.

She had worked a lifetime enjoying many successes, but it was not until God opened the door for her to play “Granny” that she lifted millions around the world out of their problems for a few minutes a day. I just have to think about some of the outlandish things she, the Hillbillies and their support cast did to bring me out of the doldrums.
Saturday nights at seven at our house were the “Hee Haw” hour. It would be impossible to list all the wonderful cast members of that show.

Grandpa Jones, Minnie Pearl, Junior Samples, Archie Campbell, Gordy Tapp, Roni Stoneman and all the cast could take the corniest routines and bring them life. They made Saturdays at seven something to look forward to.
I would be remiss not to mention the comedy talent of all the cast of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Don Knotts’ unique ability to take the simplest sentence or reaction and make it funny is an amazement. If there were comedic actors like that today, new television comedies might be worth watching.

Another cast which brought me great joy as a youth was the actors who brought "The Dukes of Hazzard" to life. I am blessed to know many of the surviving cast and was honored to visit recently with two of my favorite friends - Sonny Shroyer "Enos" and Ben Jones "Cooter" who were uplifting victims of the April tornadoes. They are both class acts!

I was once told that as an entertainer it is our job to take folks away from their problems. Whether that is in a three minute song, an hour-long television show or a live appearance.

I hope that my walk down memory lane with some of my favorite comedy people may have helped you think of something that makes you laugh and thus makes you feel a whole lot better. I know I do.

06/22/11

The choices we make touch other lives
 
In life we are constantly faced with choices. We are blessed or cursed with the gift of free will, depending on your perspective.

From the smallest detail of “Do you want fries with that?” to “Do you take this woman to be your wife?” in America, we have endless choices.

People can choose to work hard and by doing so achieve great success and accumulate wealth. Some choose to dedicate their energies to benefiting humanity.

Each choice we make sets us upon a path. Even the simplest thing like having one extra cup of coffee in the morning could change your schedule enough to prevent you from being involved in an auto accident.
As I look back on my choices, there are some I would like to change in spite of the fact I do not know what path changing them would have brought. Nevertheless, I cannot change them; I only have the power over what lies ahead, not behind. I can only try to learn from those past choices.

Using my television exposure as a podium, I have spoke to youth about living a successful drug-free life. My work 20 years ago yielded the attention of the National Drug Abuse Resistance Education Officer’s Association. Consequently, they made me an honorary D.A.R.E. officer. I have encouraged thousands across the country to make the choice not to use drugs. I do not know if any made that choice. I can only hope that at least one did.

No matter how you try to influence others, the ultimate choice lies with them. With that choice also lays consequences. When you make a choice that affects you, your family or even others you do not know, it is up to you to take responsibility for what that choice brings.

Many times people try to shift the blame if things are not going as they planned. I think we pick up this behavior as a child. It is the old “He did it” approach to avoid punishment. I do not know about you but that never worked for me. It only made the punishment worse.

I’ve attended teen/parent forums that included discussions from both parents and teens on the issue of parents making choices for their children that affect other children. Choices such as providing alcohol for teen parties or even adults turning a blind eye to drug use by not being vigilant supervisors, as they should.

Some parents may say “I’d rather have them doing it where I can keep an eye on them,” but when other children are involved I imagine their parents might like to have a say and an eye involved in the situation as well. At least that is what I have heard parents say.

Each choice we make, in some way, affects someone else — sometimes people we do not even know, such as that driver who might be injured by a teenage drunk driver coming from a supervised party where alcohol was served.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not focusing on these parents exclusively. The teenagers admit that even if parents are not providing, some of them will find a way to get alcohol themselves from older siblings, buying it themselves at establishments that do not request ID or by sneaking it from a parent when they are not watching.

Unfortunately, these teenage actions expand to various types of drugs, including prescription pills out of medicine cabinets as well.
No matter what choice you make, they are your choices. You ultimately have to live with what results from them. So if you are making a life-changing choice, become informed about what may happen depending on which path your choice leads you.

Even if it turns out to be the wrong choice, at least you did not go down that path with blinders on.


06/15/11

Reaching and Reevaluating goals

Reaching lifetime goals often means it is time to reformulate your life and create new goals.I reached a career goal in 1993 that I had pursued since I was a little child.

Since the first time I watched Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs sing "Little Girl of Mine In Tennessee" to "Granny" and "Uncle Jed" on "The Beverly Hillbillies;" since the first time I saw Wayne Newton play a down home country boy who could really saw the fiddle; or since the first time I watched Doug Dillard and all the Dillards entertain "Sheriff Andy Taylor" as "The Darlings" on the "Andy Griffith Show" with his up tempo banjo tunes; I dreamed of walking on network television to pick and grin.

I always figured that such national exposure for a young boy from Georgia had to come through music. There were just not that many other avenues at that time. So I worked and studied to improve my music, working to create and market our youth group, The Peachtree Pickers®, by working flea markets, churches and schools. We began competing at fiddler's conventions and then moved up to entertaining larger and larger audiences at bluegrass festivals and fairs. The support of my late parents Pearl and Floyd Franks and those of the other group members helped to move our joint goals forward. We reached network cable in its infancy with a children's show called "The Country Kids TV Series," essentially a children's "Hee Haw" which aired in the United States and abroad. Our growth would eventually lead us to performances for the Grand Old Opry ® and some acceptance by the more mainstream music industry.

In 1987, members of our youth act decided to go their separate ways, partially due to new college obligations. I was at a new point in my life, trying to decide what is next. I had not yet reached my childhood goal, but without a group, which was still the foundation of bluegrass and southern gospel music at that time, I did not know what my next step would be. I decided to make some solo appearances pulling together musicians when needed and continued appearing with other acts such as The Marksmen Quartet and Doodle and the Golden River Grass.

I began work at the Atlanta-based MBM records in 1987 helping to guide the careers of several artists signed with the label while still performing every opportunity I had. In 1988, the label changed hands and my job was eliminated. So, once again, I found myself searching. While I had enjoyed doing some minor acting in school, I decided in order to reach my television goal, I would have to begin a more intensive study of acting and take any opportunity, which were not many at the time, I could to get to be on screen in Georgia.

But God seemed to immediately open the doors, giving me opportunity after opportunity. The music talents God gave me seemed to put me where I needed to be. It would not be music that landed me my role as "Officer Randy Goode" on "In the Heat of the Night," but it would be the many friends I developed from years of touring and recording that would share their exuberance about my presence on the show. After countless requests from those who cared about my music asking for me to perform on the show, Carroll O'Connor wrote a uniquely designed scene in an episode entitled "Random's Child" which would set up a reason and purpose for "Officer Randy" to be pickin' and grinnin' just to frustrate the bad guys in that episode. One of those bad guys was Robert O'Reilly, "Gowron," leader of the Klingons, from "Star Trek, Deep Space Nine." I bet that is the only time in my life I will get to aggravate a Klingon.

Anyway, Carroll wrote a little piece entitled the "Sparta Blues" for actor Thomas Byrd and I to perform at the Sparta Police impound yard when the bad guys came to claim their car.

I have always jokingly called it my biggest hit since millions saw and heard it on CBS and millions more around the world have heard it since. I've often wondered what it sounded like when translated into Chinese or Italian. Recently, one of our Italian fans actually sent me some Italian performances, they were interesting. I didn't know I spoke Italian so well.

It took years but the childhood dream was reached, and the goal I had chased for years was accomplished.
Then I had to decide what was next. Life is a constant re-evaluation of where you are and where you are going. We can't just simply drift or what service will that be to God and our fellow man? He has a purpose for everyone's life. It is up to us to make His vision for us happen. He will open the doors; we must simply study and be prepared to walk through. But at the same time, as we walk with the confidence He gave us we must always be mindful of whether what we are reaching for is His will or one we have created. Only time will tell.



06/08/11

A radio legend marks a milestone
 
Pull up a chair, its time for “The Otis Head Show.”

For 56 years, thousands of North Georgians have sought a weekly dose of down-home charm and bluegrass music from this beloved radio personality.
When I would visit the area as a child visiting my grandparents, his show was always a welcome favorite.

Saturdays from 12:30 to 1:30 p.m. at 1530 on the AM dial, WTTI, and on the internet at http://www.wttiradio.com/ by clicking Listen Live, Otis packs in loyal listeners who look forward to his folksy delivery and personal stories about growing up in Gobbler’s Knob and living in Plainview, both north of Dalton in Whitfield County.

“I was born up the creek from Prater’s Mill,” he said. “We were always farmers at that time.”

When Head began broadcasting his weekly bluegrass program on WBLJ in Dalton, he gave listeners the latest sounds of bluegrass at a time when performers such as Elvis Presley were changing the face of Southern music, pushing bluegrass further down on the list of radio formats.

“When I was real young all I knew was a few people who picked banjo and maybe a few that played fiddle,” he said. “I liked it. It’s in my bones I reckon.”

He was playing the stars Bill Monroe, the Stanley Brothers, and Jim and Jesse.

“I had live bands at one time,” he said. “The Swaggerty Family and the Fort Mountain Boys were among them.”

Head originally began the program to promote his grocery store, the Plainview Superette.

“I started from nothing — just the little stock,” he said. “I had $444 worth. The store was originally just 17 feet by 22 feet. Business got so good I built on three times.”

He eventually grew it into a supermarket, he said.

After just a year on the air, Head moved to WRCD where he remained for 28 years until programmers desired to move his weekly show from 12:30 in the afternoon to 7:30 a.m. He did not see eye to eye with them so he ended his nearly 30-year run.

“I no more than walked out the door when WTTI took me to its studio,” he said. “I have been there ever since playing the finest in gospel bluegrass.”

Head retired from the grocery business nearly 20 years ago but he had already built up a long list of program sponsors. He and his wife, Mary, walk listeners through their radio map each week inviting folks to stop by and do business with dedicated sponsors from Western Sizzlin to First Bank of Dalton.

“When I retired I just kept going,” he said. “The people kept me going.”

In his long career he brought many bluegrass greats to North Georgia to perform or do an interview, from Bill Monroe, Boys from Indiana, Country Music Hall of Famer Charlie Louvin, the Bailes Brothers and others.

One unique trip he made to Maggie Valley forever changed the face of bluegrass.

“I was driving down the road, on the side of the road about 50 people were gathered beside a little old store,” he said. “I stopped to see what was going on. I heard a banjo. I parted people back and there was this banjo player performing for tips.”

The 20-year-old Native American Raymond Fairchild was soon on his way to Plainview where he was playing for Otis.

“He started picking the banjo at the supermarket,” Head said. “He got to drawing such a crowd. I had to stop cause it was hurting my business. I could not do business with all the people there. They did not come to trade they came to watch him pick.”

At the same time Otis was making contact with old friends in Nashville, telling them about his find. Before long Otis had Raymond in Nashville recording his first album at age 22.

Fairchild went on to set the world of traditional music on fire, winning five consecutive Master of the Banjo championships and taking the stage of the Grand Ole Opry by storm.

He now hosts his own show nightly from May through October at the Maggie Valley Opry House where folks can see his countless awards and gold records, accolades and accomplishments that may not have been possible without Otis.

Otis mixed into his career on radio a period as a prize fighter and a run as a fast-draw western show performer and promoter entertaining audiences with some outstanding western performances.

Otis will celebrate his anniversary at a Share America concert at the Ringgold Depot in Ringgold, Ga. on June 10 at 7:30 alongside artists Hickory Wind.

If you should miss that opportunity, visit http://www.youtube.com/randallfranks and check out my feature video with harmonica stylist Otis Head and Raymond Fairchild.

Otis ends each show with a borrowed line from the Duke of Paducah. He said he stopped using it for a while, and the audience kept on him until he started doing it again so for their sake, “I’m heading to the wagon these shoes are killin’ me.”


06/01/11

Overcoming adversity
 
Often in life there are obstacles which we can never foresee coming our way.

It is often during these times we really come to know what we are made of, whether we can overcome adversity or simply crumble beneath the weight of whatever is thrust upon us.

In the valley below the Gravelly Spur, the prosperity of the 1950s had given way to most folks living comfortably. The desperation faced by many during the Great Depression was long since a memory. The faces of those lost in World War II were slowly moving from being ripped from presence to fondly remembered family members.

Granddad Bill was in his 70s and had given up full-time farming just to keep a few head of cattle and plant a light garden with some of his favorite vegetables.

He rose early one morning, and as usual placed the black cast iron pot on the wood stove to heat water for some coffee and turned on the radio to listen to the price of stock as he made his JFG coffee.

He took last night’s biscuit out of the breadbox over the stove and put some homemade strawberry preserves on it. As he reached it up towards his mouth, he dropped a bit of the preserves down on his faded blue overalls that showed more than 20 years worth of trips down to the old barn and hundreds of boilings in Grandma Kitty’s cast iron wash pot.
He took the kitchen towel and wiped it away. He sat with his coffee, sipping it from the cup saucer,and finished his biscuit as he listened to the Martha White Bluegrass Show on WSM.

He then pulled on his old brown work boots, put on his hat and headed off towards the barn.

It was not unusual for him to be gone for quite a spell when he was out with his cattle in the morning. Grandma Kitty had gotten up and prepared a full breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh biscuits and sawmill gravy. When he did not return after a while, she became worried, slipped on her green coat, pulled on her bonnet and took off down to the tattered barn.

As she called to him, she heard no answer; her worries intensified as she called louder and began looking more quickly through each stall.

As she reached the last stall with no luck, she heard a banging coming from outside. She raced towards the sound and found Granddad Bill lying next to his old Farmall tractor. He was banging on it with an old board.

When she found him, it was apparent he had suffered a stroke; his face was drawn, and he could not speak or use his right side. He could only look up at her in desperation.
This man who left home in his teens on horseback to go west wasn’t even able to pick himself up off the ground.
Grandma helped him to his feet and got him to the house. She laid him in the bed near the wood stove and sent to town for the doctor.

Old Doc Lawson said there was not much that could be done except keep him comfortable. Everything was up to God and Bill. The doctor suggested calling all the family in just in case.

When Pearl arrived, she could not get in her mind that her father — the pillar of strength she adored — could be leaving soon. She joined the family vigil around his bed, providing constant care, massaging his affected limbs, helping him eat and coaxing him to speak.

She stayed with him night and day, lending him her strength until he could use his own.

She had dozed off by his bed when she was awakened by the sound of her name: “Pearl, Pearl… water.” She knew then that Granddad Bill was on his way back.

And he did come back, regaining his speech and the use of his arm and his leg, although he did walk with a cane after he recovered, returning to doing what he loved — tending his cattle.

If you are interested in supporting this effort you may send a tax-deductible donation to the Catoosa Organization Acting in Disaster, P.O. Box 53, Ringgold, GA 30736 or online at www.HelpRinggold.com. If you have a question about helping you may currently call (706) 935-2109 for additional information. If you have had a disaster in your home community and we now have many across our region, I encourage you to step up find out what is needed and volunteer or give money or other requested needs. Thank those serving you and make a difference at home. If you can help in my hometown, I know it will make a difference in the lives of many who need it.


The Hallmark Channel features “The Waltons” and you can check out schedules at http://www.hallmarkchannel.com/thewaltons.

If you have never seen it before, or even if your have, I encourage you to pull up a chair and take a trip to a place where life is not always simple, but no matter what comes their way, the family and the community survive together on the solid morale ground of Walton’s Mountain.

05/25/11

Family ties won’t be broken

 The importance of one’s family connections is something that I believe we are losing in America.

With each generation there are fewer individuals who live close to their extended families, unlike the days when grandma and grandpa lived just in the next room or uncles, aunts and cousins were a short walk down the road.
Many Americans today do not really know the members of their extended family. We spend a few awkward moments together at funerals, family reunions, Christmas and Thanksgiving gatherings and then off we go back to our own lives.

As families build lives miles away from their home many grasp the anonymity of their new surroundings with fervor, often dreading when a distant family member might drop in, disrupting their lives.

Despite the fact that my parents chose to move away from their homes to build a life for themselves in Atlanta, I grew up in a home where our door was open to members of both my mother’s and father’s families. It was not unusual for there to be cousins stretched out on quilted pallets sleeping on the living room floor; uncles rummaging through the refrigerator for green dill pickles as a late night snack; aunts blanching red tomatoes from the garden in the kitchen; or distant kin moving in for an extended stay while they looked for a job or planned a new start.

Because of the time I spent with these people growing up, I feel a much closer connection to them; the shared experiences make chance meetings and gatherings less of a strain today.

It was not unusual for my Mom to get up and start cooking a batch of turnip greens, cornbread and some fried chicken, while cleaning the house from end to end. When asked why she was doing it, she would say “so and so” will be here directly. Sure enough, after a while they would knock at the door. My Mom has a second sense about that. With no forewarning she knew some relative was on their way.

Sundays were a big visiting day. It was not unusual for Uncle Harvey, Aunt Lois and all their kids to load up in the car and be knocking at our door before dinner. Sometimes Grandma Allie and Grandpa Jesse would come along for the ride.

Us cousins would spend the afternoon playing as the folks caught up on all the family news. We might ride over to the airport to watch the planes land or go downtown to sight see. We would eat dinner, and then they would load up in the car and head back up to Tunnel Hill.

I remember one trip when they came down to see Joe Don Baker in “Walking Tall.” Of course, us kids were not old enough to go to the drive-in and see it so we had a sleepover instead, while most of the adults took in the hit movie.

Just like their visits there, we also visited regularly. Despite the distance it was like we were one family experiencing life together rather than living separate lives and putting up with one another for a few hours at the holidays.

God has called many of those family members for an extended stay at his house. While they are absent here, the experiences still live within me, giving me a sense of the extended family even if there are fewer of them now than there once was.

The stories they told of relatives I never knew made those people alive to me. Through those stories many of my characters come to life on the page in columns and in scripts.

As each holiday rolls by, take the time to experience more than just the ordinary. Help create an experience that will last for yourself and your children throughout the lifetime. It is the shared moments of life that will make the basis for what we know as family.

If we as a country do not work to strengthen our families individually what will the future hold for the American family as a whole? I guess we will be a country of individuals seeking a group in which to belong.

05/18/11

The night I will never forget

When I was a little boy I remember my Aunt Sis and Uncle Waymond losing their home as tornadoes ripped through Xenia, Ohio.

Tornadoes for me with that exception were something I saw on television news or in movies but they were not something that I had a first-hand experience with.
As I went to a meeting on the morning of April 27 in Rossville, Ga., it was apparent to me that I was on the heels of a tornado or very high winds that knocked down trees and stole the power source from the traffic signal lights and of course the government building where I was to meet with representatives from around the area relating to transportation planning.

As I saw the wind damage, I thought how lucky I was again to be just behind the incident.

As the day progressed, storm systems threatened, and by 7:30 p.m. my normal watching of “The Andy Griffith Show” was halted by an apparent downing of the receiver or sender that provided local signals to our Charter cable. So with no local news service, our little community was in the dark to what was headed our way.

My parents had taught me as a kid to open windows when weather threatened and I had gone as far as opening my doors.

It was past eight when I felt a change, heard the sound of train and stuck my head out the back door to see a monster headed towards our subdivision.

It seemed the black sky was just reaching down and touching the ground as far as I could see. The only way I knew that it was a tornado was by looking up in the sky and seeing what appeared to be the hood of a car and other debris flying high in the air.

I quickly moved into the interior bathroom praying and awaiting for it to come through.

For some reason, the behemoth turned after destroying our interstate commercial district headed across the center of Ringgold devastating landmarks and ripping houses from existence. It then proceeded across White Oak Mountain and continued through Cherokee Valley and into Apison, Tenn. This became the longest tornado on the ground ever recorded.

At points the destruction was a mile wide. Our community lost eight cherished members and hundreds of lives were shattered by home and business destruction. We lost schools, city and county facilities.

We are just one story on a night that reached across the Southern U.S. changing the face of community after community and family after family.

I cannot say enough positive things about the first responders - police, fire, paramedics - that worked tirelessly through the night serving our community. I worked with survivors myself until slightly before 3 a.m. before catching a few hours of sleep and returning to emergency command the next morning. So, I had a first-hand opportunity to see or hear of many of the heroic actions taken to assist.

I also want to commend the great sense of community that came from neighbor helping neighbor - everything from searching a devastated house for survivors to bringing a neighbor to safety or shelter. In the darkness, in the wet, between downed power lines, automobiles hanging in the air, in only what could be described as a war zone, people stood up and became more than I am sure some ever thought they could be.

In waves came state workers, utility workers, relief organizations, church groups, civic groups and so many individuals reaching out to help. We could never know all the stories; we could never know all the kindnesses shared. I pray that every community received the outpouring that blessed Ringgold.

Our community has a long road ahead to rebuild the lives of those who are uninsured, underinsured or without means to start again, and while FEMA will provide some support the majority of this effort will remain in the hands of people willing to give time, resources, money to create new opportunities from the disaster.

05/11/11

A superhero extreme makeover
 
For many years I have been amazed by the enthusiasm and energy of one boy. His name is Patrick Sharrock.
He is now 9 years old and he has lived his life with those qualities and many others including a desire to encourage others and a great sense of humor despite facing the issues of growing up a rare bone disease called osteogenesis imperfecta or O.I.

According to the Osteogenesis Imperfecta Foundation website, “O.I. is a genetic disorder characterized by bones that break easily, often from little or no apparent cause.”
His parents Michael and Cynthia Sharrock make their home in Catoosa County near Rossville near where I live. They and Patrick have been an extended part of my family for many years because I have reported on the amazing progress he has made with the care given at the Shriners Hospital in Lexington, Ky. as the men of the Alhambra Shrine Temple in Chattanooga, Tenn. worked to make his and his parents’ lives better.

After his birth, a doctor gave Michael and Cynthia a bleak outlook on his future.

“The doctor said, ‘do not put a lot of faith in this child’; it was like he was telling us he is going to die so cut your losses and try again,” Michael said.

“Initially I was scared to death,” he said. “Once I found out my son was so fragile I would drive 15 miles an hour dodging ever pot hole, taking the curves slowly. I was petrified.”

He was afraid any jar might break one of Patrick’s bones.
“I would still pick him up and handle him; my wife at first was scared to handle him,” he said. “I would jump at anybody that approached him; I would guard him like a watch dog even against nurses.”

Even though Patrick and Cindy still watch him like a hawk, as I watched him dance around and entertain hundreds of people who had gathered in front of their small home to hear the following words: “Move that bus!” it was sure to see that Patrick was reveling in the excitement.

What excitement? Well for those who might have never seen the show “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition,” that is the excitement.

Over basically a week while the Sharrocks were sent on a short vacation, the stars and thousands of volunteers knocked down their small ranch house that was in disrepair and dangerous for Patrick and built a house that will make all their lives much easier and safer.

Of course, the family has had to keep the interior under wraps from everyone until the big show airs on May 15 at 8 p.m. EST on ABC.

“I believe this house is made with a lot of love, a lot of sweat and tears,” Cindy said after returning from volunteering herself to help some of her Catoosa County neighbors who lost their homes in the recent string of Southern tornadoes. “We find out one of the people who helped build this for us lost his house today.”
She said the designers worked with an OI patient family from Peking, Ill. to help design the house with amazing safety features for Patrick.

“All these years we have protected Patrick from people,” she said. “Now they have come out and loved us. Now they know about the condition and we are embracing them and helping.”

Many years ago I wrote a story about Patrick saying that “superheroes come in all sizes” and I am honored that the Extreme Makeover expanded on that theme and incorporated it into what they did for Patrick and his family.
If you have time please, spend some time with a family that will touch your heart and watch Ty Pennington and all the rest of the gang from Catoosa County, Ga.

A note from Randall Franks following the tornado disaster

Dear Friends,

I want to thank all of you who have inquired about my well being since last Wednesday’s tornado system that devastated so many of our states. I am privileged to say while I was in close proximity to the F4 tornado that ripped through our community, I am safe.

I have been serving with the leadership in our county and city trying to assist in any way that I am needed to pull our community back together.

Pray for Ringgold and Catoosa County, Pray for our families that now have no home; pray for our families that lost loved ones.

There has been a tremendous outpouring of support for our community, if you wish to assist in some way; I want you to feel free to do so. If you are close enough and wish to volunteer, the emergency response team put in place a volunteer coordinator system that is accepting names, numbers and areas of expertise. There have been over a thousand offers, but this will be a long process and it must be organized and coordinated to serve the well the safety and well being of the residents and as well those volunteering. Call the volunteer coordinator at (706) 935-2109.

We are within a couple of days of setting up a relief fund that will centrally receive donations to focus the money best where it is needed.

Currently we are asking cash donations be sent to the three assistance centers Ringgold United Methodist Church - 7884 Nashville Street, Poplar Springs Baptist Church - 422 Poplar Springs Road, and Cherokee Valley Baptist Church - 1495 Cherokee Valley Road as well as our Christ Chapel Share and Care Mission - 281 Inman Street which also serves as a local food bank year round. All of these are Ringgold, Ga. 30736. If you wish to donate to the main fund call the help line in a couple to see if it is set up yet.

We are currently moving into the rebuilding phase, so needs are becoming more in the direction of building materials, you may call the help line below to inquire about the current needs if you wish to help in that way.

If you have a need in Catoosa County call the Catoosa County and Ringgold help line at (706) 965-7138 or (706) 965-7139.

Thank you so much for the outpouring of support and love. If I have not contacted you directly, I hope you will please understand, I have tried to reach all who have reached out, but I have had to focus my attention here.

With Sincere Thanks,
Randall Franks


05/04/11

Finding “The Way Home”
 
I was recently honored to host a special evening in my hometown featuring showings of the new film “The Way Home.” I had originally attended a star-studded premiere of the Lionsgate and Red 5 Entertainment film at Atlanta’s Fox Theater.
I became familiar with the movie filmed on location in Carroll County, Ga. because one of my closest friends, Sonny Shroyer, “Enos” from “The Dukes of Hazzard,” joined Dean Cain and Lori Beth Edgeman in the project. Cain and Edgeman portray Randy and Christal Simpkins.

Director Lance W. Dreesen shared with me that Sonny was the best person for the role of the real-life hero “Ed Walker” describing Sonny's work as real and recalling his ability as an actor to tap a range of emotions.
Walker was a pivotal person in the lives of Randy and Christal Simpkins whose 2-year-old son Joe disappeared. That is the story told in the film and in their real lives as the community came together in full force to support this family.

Lori Beth, Randy and Christal and the Simpkins’ former pastor Jerry Little joined me at the showings to add a unique prospective to the experience for our audience.

Lori Beth said that her time filming with the Simpkins was the most unique of her life and she added that many of her fellow cast and crew shared that same prospective.

The film was actually shot where the real-life family lives, while they were living in the house - which is what added to the experience, she said.
She is currently seen in Robert Redford’s new film “The Conspirator,” now out in theaters.

Randy and Christal often share their testimonies in churches about how God used their experience to bring them closer to Him and each other. They write about that in the book “Our Way Home.”

Our audiences were moved not only by the film but also by what the couple shared. We even had folks leave the first showing and encourage family members to run down for the second.

About the movie - “The Way Home,” Randy said, “We hope others can learn the same life lessons we did without having to endure the things we did that day.”
Some among the outstanding cast are Tom Nowicki, Brett Rice, Jay Gill, Jackson Walker, Terrence Gibney and many others.

Producers include Dreesen, Shay Griffin, Clint Hutchison and Randy Simpkins.

This moving film emphasizes the importance of family and faith and shares how a community, church family and emergency personnel can work together to change the lives of their neighbors.

I encourage you to add the DVD to your personal collection. If you feel that the movie along with its available Sunday school or worship lessons could bring a special experience to your church, found out how you can do that as well. Learn more by visiting www.thewayhome-movie.com.

04/27/11

Why are there no new TV shows
like 'The Waltons?'
 
I have often wondered what makes an enduring television show. One of my all-time favorite shows was “The Waltons.” Growing up, that show reflected most closely the South of my parents and grandparents. I related to John and Olivia, John-Boy, Jason, Mary Ellen, Ben, Erin, Jim-Bob and Elizabeth, Esther and Zeb as if they were part of my own family. Earl Hamner Jr. created this masterpiece of Americana based on his life growing up during the Depression and World War II.

I remember mourning the passing of Will Geer (Grandpa Zeb Walton) as if I had lost my own grandfather. I struggled along with Ellen Colby (Grandma Esther Walton) as she performed through her real-life stroke.

I know that it was a drama and the participants were actors but the characters seemed real to me and made me feel that, the first chance I got, I should move to Walton’s Mountain.

I always enjoyed the characters that gave the show a bit of the out-of-the-ordinary — characters such as the Baldwin Sisters, who brewed up The Recipe, not realizing it was illegal; or Corabeth Walton Godsey, the always-starched well-educated cousin who tried to bring a bit of class and culture to the mountain at Godsey’s General Store.

I had the pleasure of working with Ronnie Claire Edwards, who portrayed Corabeth, while working on “In the Heat of The Night” in an episode titled “Perversion of Justice” and directed by Harry Harris, who also directed “The Waltons.”

For me, getting to spend a few days visiting with her took me back to all those nights waiting to hear that mountain-style theme music emanating from the television speaker.

Like a good Mark Twain story where you just want to pull off your shoes and jump the next raft down the Mississippi, I wanted to pull off my shoes and walk down the old dirt road with all the Walton kids.

Harry Harris and I discussed the Waltons on a couple of occasions. At one point he was trying to get Richard Thomas to return to do a reunion show. Harris gave me the impression that Thomas was reluctant. To my delight, just in time for Thanksgiving 1993, the cast once again gathered around the big table on Walton’s Mountain, held hands and said grace. The success of the show brought other reunions — “A Walton’s Wedding” and “A Walton’s Easter.”

In the back of my mind I still wished I had been there. Already being an actor, the wish was even stronger.
When I ran across the CD “A Walton Christmas,” I could not resist getting a copy and listening to it from beginning to end.

I have never had the pleasure of meeting any of the other regular cast members, although I was briefly around Peggy Rea, who played “Rose,” while Alan Autry and I both worked on “Grace Under Fire.” Unfortunately, I never got to meet her.

04/20/11

A little funny never hurts
 
One of my readers said that I needed to share a bit of comedy in my column to raise the spirits of the folks back home. Well I don’t know if I can do that but I’m willing to take aim at it. So wherever you call home, I hope this uplifts your spirits!
One of my favorite places to find funny comments or situations is in church and sometimes the funniest thing you find relates with youngin’s and church thinkin’.
I remember a few years ago my nephew asked me if he had a guardian angel. I told him ‘Sure you do. Your guardian angel is always with you.”
“Does he eat with me?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“Does he sleep with me?”
“Sure,” I said.
“That must have been who kicked me out of bed last night,” he said.
 
—
 
Now I won’t take credit for this next one, its one I heard from an older feller which will remain nameless:
Do you know where radio was invented?
Where?
The Garden of Eden.
What?
God took Adam’s rib and made the first loudspeaker.
 
—
 
A little known fact about Noah’s Ark:
There were three camels on board.
The first was the camel many people swallow while straining at a gnat.
The second was the camel whose back was broken by the last straw.
And the third was the one who shall pass through the eye of a needle before a rich man enters the kingdom of Heaven.
 
—
 
Farmer Jud and his wife Jeweldine, a childless farm couple prayed to have a child.
As an answer to the prayer, the couple received the blessing of triplets.
The preacher commented as to how their prayers were answered.
Jud said, “Yep, but I never prayed for a bumper crop.”
 
—
 
A lady searched endlessly to find the love of her life with no success so she finally turned to prayer:
“Oh Lord, I am not asking for a thing for myself but please send mother a son-in-law.”
 
—
 
A father asks a prospective son-in law “Can you support my daughter in the manner she is accustom to?”
He replies “ She ain’t gonna move is she?”
 
—
 
I have always heard that bread cast on the water always returns. Bread cast on the water, may return but all the bread we send overseas sure doesn’t.
 
—
 
Laughter has always been an important part of life in our family mainly because of the nature of our ancestors to lean towards being stoic in their approach in life. That approach comes even more naturally to me than laughter does. I am often asked “Why don’t you smile more.” My answer is sometimes “I am smiling on the inside.” Moments of joys and laughter are even more cherished to me. May laughter always fill your days because God does have a sense of humor otherwise, he would have never made someone quite like us, would he?


04/13/11

Tim McCoy, America’s authentic western star

 
When you think of western films even thirty plus years after his passing the legendary John Wayne is who comes to most people’s minds.
Who can ever forget his greater than life presence on the screen no matter what film was rolling through the projector like “She Wore A Yellow Ribbon,” “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” “ The Sons of Katy Elder,” “True Grit,” “Rooster Cogburn,” and “The Shootist.”

Many remember Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hopalong Cassidy and even Lash La Rue but do you recall the first generation of western heroes that dominated the silver screen. Tim McCoy, Tom Mix, Hoot Gibson, Harry Carey, Buck Jones, William S. Hart and Ken Maynard. Do any of those names ring a bell?

Unless you are a true western devotee it is likely that these legendary actors some of who demanded huge salaries and drew large crowds at personal appearances bring with them a question mark. Many do not realize that the film industry actually began with a western.
In that short, a cowboy points his gun at the camera and fires. That was the extent of the film and as it was shown around the country, audiences actually ducked thinking they might be hit by flying lead.

As film began the images were simply silent pictures with inserted cards added to share important story points or dialogue written on the screen. Often as the films traveled from theater to theater, a local pianist or organist helped set the mood by performing a musical score. The early film industry actually began in New Jersey before its move to the desert and hills around Hollywood. So even the early westerns didn’t have a real western setting to them.

William S. Hart was the first actor to work to bring realism to western film but authenticity gave way to more entertaining fare in films with Tom Mix, Hoot Gibson and later Buck Jones.

Broncho Billy Anderson and Harry Carey rode the range above them all in the second decade of the twentieth century with scores of silent films. Anderson appeared in the Thomas Edison’s “Great Train Robbery” in 1903 that actually is considered the first western feature film.

In many of the westerns the premise of being the fastest gun has left many hero standing on a dusty street back to the sun facing down a challenger who wanted to test their mettle against him.

Of all the western heroes there was none that could out draw Tim McCoy. McCoy could draw and shoot in ¼ of a second. He was one of the highest paid and most admired western heroes of that era. While many of the silent stars didn’t easily move into talkies when they began in the 1930s several did and McCoy was among those dominating the 1930s.

Even John Wayne, once a prop guy after three years of extra and bit parts and a couple starring roles played bit parts in Tim McCoy Columbia movies “Texas Cyclone” and a co-starring role in “Two-Fisted Law” in 1932. However, if you catch those on video today you will often find Wayne given top billing while the star is relegated below him.
I never had the pleasure of knowing Tim McCoy but through my association with Ramblin’ “Doc” Tommy Scott, I feel that I do. McCoy traveled with Scott’s road show from 1963 until shortly before his death. I have heard countless stories of his exploits and consider him to be one of the greatest of the western stars.

“Unlike many who played cowboys and were referred to as ‘drug store cowboys’ Tim McCoy was a real cowboy,” Scott said.

Although he was born in Saginaw, Michigan, McCoy longed for the west and that is where he went as soon as he was old enough.

“The first town he settled down in was Lander, Wyoming, a real old timey Western town,” Scott said. “The sidewalks were boards and the streets were dirt and mud when it rained. He had a room up over a saloon. He went to sleep at night to the sound of cowboys walking on the sidewalks, their boots clicking on the hard wood, and horse’s hooves beating on the hard ground, and over it all was the jangle of spurs, the holler of drunken cowboys, laughter of loose women, and high tinkle of a piano. It was like music to his ears.”

McCoy went from being a cowhand, to a rancher, to military officer to Adjutant General of Wyoming all before he ever set foot on a movie set.

His Hollywood career began in a way as an Indian liaison while Paramount was making the film “Covered Wagon” in 1923.

When the film toured Tim hosted a prologue with several of his Indian friends that appeared before the film including at London’s Pavilion to rave reviews.
After returning to America MGM signed him to shine on the silver screen.

According to Tim’s son, Ronald McCoy, who is a professor of history at Emporia State University in Emporia, Kansas, McCoy also longed for authenticity in his films and he also desired to show Indians in a positive light rather than in the conventional form in movies.

He managed to do that long before Kevin Costner’s “Dances with Wolves” was hailed for its approach when McCoy lensed “End of the Trail” for Columbia in 1932 near Lander, Wyoming.

“The story was very pro Indian. It was about how they were being cheated by the whites and how the treaties were being broken,” Ronald said. “It was very rare for the time He helped put the movie together in terms of the writing and they filmed it up on the Arapahoe and Shoshone Wind River Reservation.”

Ronald, who co-authored “Tim McCoy Remembers the West” with his father, said Tim was most proud of that film from his nearly 100 movies.

McCoy also did an educational film on Indian sign language for Standard Oil, Ronald said.
“It was meant for school children and he did it up in Glacier National Park mostly with Blackfeet that he known for 40 years or more,” he said. “It was one of his contributions of putting some knowledge out about Indian sign language.”

He was also able to do that again in his afternoon children’s television show that won an Emmy.

“His idea was he had found history so interesting because of the people and the stories. He felt that too often academics squeezed all the life out of it. Taking a great story and making it dull. His idea was to keep it interesting.”

Tim McCoy was not only one of the greatest western stars but he was one of the greatest westerners who tried to preserve and protect what he loved about the American West. You can read more about him and other western stars in "Doc" Tommy Scott's autobiography "Snake Oil, Superstars and Me." Shirley Swiesz and I joined Scott in writing the book. Visit the Randall Franks Store to find out more.


04/06/11

When we get around to it
 
As I sat on the back porch my legs dangled off the side, swinging a few inches above the red Georgia clay. Next to me, in tattered blue overalls, sat my Grandpa Jesse.

Grandpa’s once light hair had turned much darker with the passage of time. His steel blue eyes offered a sense of strength. With his Case pocketknife he was whittling on a piece of maple he had cut from a tree.

As I watched him working I wondered what he was carving out of the wood.
“Grandpa, what is it going to be,” I asked.

In his booming voice he said, “Boy, its all inside the wood. You just have to keep cutting until it jumps out at you.”

“What do you think it might be?” he asked.
“A dog,” I said.

He told me it might be a dog like my black and tan beagle mix, Track, or a rooster like my chicken, Roscoe, or even a deer like Bambi.

I sat there looking up at him as he quietly worked. I asked him a million questions.

“When are we going to town?” I asked.
“When we get around to it,” he replied.

“When are you going to paint the house,” I asked.
“When we get around to it,” he replied.

I asked about his vibrantly red and white roses that he loved to cross breed.
“When can we pick a rose,” I asked.
“When we get around to it,” he replied.

When he tired of carving, he slipped the stick into his vest pocket, and he said, “Let’s take a walk.”

We walked side by side down the old dirt drive past his roses towards the vegetable garden where he stopped to admire his tomatoes.

“They have been real good this year,” he said. “Look how big it is. It’s all in how you work the dirt.”

He picked a large red fruit off the vine, cut a big slice off, took a small salt shaker from his side pocket and sprinkled it before handing it to me. I was always amazed how he could pull just about anything out of his overall pockets.

“Just try that, you won’t find a better one,” he said.
As I tried it, he cut a slice for himself.

“When are we going to pick the rest of the tomatoes,” I asked.
“When we get around to it,” he replied.

It was one of the best tomatoes I have ever eaten. Not because of the taste but because it was my grandpa that grew it, picked it and cut it for me.

As I savored the time, we walked a little further down the row of corn and beans. He picked a couple of green beans and handed me one to eat.

“When are we going to cook them,” I asked.
“When we get around to it,” he replied.

As we ate, we walked on down the dusty road to the railroad, which shook grandpa’s old house each time the train steamed by.

We walked a ways down the track as grandpa took the maple wood from his pocket. He began whittling away as we walked, working almost feverishly to complete his work of art.

When he was done he presented it to me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A roundtoit.” he replied.

03/30/11


Remembering Ferlin Husky
 
One of my favorite all time songs is “Wings of a Dove.” I also have tremendous admiration for the artist who made the song possible — Ferlin Husky and sadly we lost Ferlin to congestive heart failure on March 17, 2011 at the age of 85.

I had the honor of meeting the Country Music Hall of Famer some years ago in Branson when I came in to make an appearance for the Ernest Tubb Record Shop. That day there was a gathering, a who’s who if you will, of country’s favorites who called Branson their performance home — Boxcar Willie, Ferlin, Jim Owens, among others.

I enjoyed a nice visit with Ferlin then and in 2008 had the chance to speak with him by telephone at his home in Missouri for an in depth interview.

Even in his 80s, he still enjoyed performing and singing. More than 20 million records sold among them "Gone," “Wings of a Dove," "A Dear John Letter," and "Country Music is Here to Stay,” performed by his alter-ego Simon Crum.

Husky recalled in our visit that he and musician/writer Bob Ferguson wrote the “Wings of a Dove” together although he let Ferguson have all the writer’s credits because Ferlin published the song.

“It took me five years to get it recorded,” he said. “Mr. Ken Nelson, A and R Man at Capitol (Records) in Nashville, said people are not buying those religious type songs. It won’t sell.

“Every time I’d record, I’d bring it up,” he said. “Finally he said to me one day, ‘You keep talking about that song. If you want to. Do it but you will be history.”

Husky gave up the notion and went on to try to get others to record it to now avail. Finally, five years later he was able to slip it into a session when a missed plane connection kept Nelson from a session.

The song was released as the B-side of what Nelson felt was the hit “Next to Jimmy” but the B-side prevailed.

When it came to his hit “Gone,” Ferlin put his own special stamp on the song as he envisioned an old time gospel sound on the song.

Using the Jordanaires and Millie Kirkham along with the musicians the studio quickly filled.

Nelson warned Ferlin, “ ‘You're out of your mind. If one more person walks in, the session is off.’”

Even though it was his second try at recording “Gone,” he first recorded it under the name Terry Preston with the Cliffie Stone Band, this time he was going to do it his way and he did and made the song hit.

Ferlin had the attention of the television leaders throughout his career often appearing on the biggest shows of the dayEd Sullivan, Steve Allen, Mike Douglas, Merv Griffin, Dean Martin and the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. He even replaced Arthur Godfrey on his show in 1957 and his comedic alter ego Simon Crum made millions laugh.

“I had an eighth grade education. Someone from the country where I was raised on the farm and get to replace the man that was the giant in television — known as one of best pitch men in business,” he said. “Of all the announcers for them to pick me to do his summer replacement in 1957.”

He also appeared in about 18 films and serials like the “Durango Kid” during his time on the west coast.
Husky said all in all his life allowed him to fulfill all the dreams he imagined as a boy on the farm near Flat River, Mo.

“I have been blessed. God’s been awful good to me,” he said.

I always looked forward to my visits with Ferlin, it is sure on March 17 that God sent His love to Ferlin on the Wings of a Dove. To find out more about Ferlin, visit ferlinhusky.com.

03/23/11


A musical request

Have you ever watched a child cast one toy aside and reach for something else? A friend of mine once told me he had watched his grandchildren open gifts and cast each one aside looking for the next one while spending no time with the one they just opened.

He shared with me that at that point he knew his grandchildren had come to expect too much, wanting more and more — rather than being satisfied with one gift, they wanted to rip through dozens and then simply cast them aside.

I looked at my watch as mother drove by the old Colonial Grocery Store saying, “Hurry, Mom, we are going to be late.” Of course we were not going to be late. The piano store was just next door. I picked up my books and rushed inside. I was always amazed at a store filled with pianos — I really wanted to get there early so I could go through and try out several of them while I waited my turn with piano teacher Jean Stiles.

I do not know what made me want to go from instrument to instrument playing. Perhaps it was the same desire that made those children my friend had described ripping through more and more presents. Although the pianos were not mine and would not be.
I was intrigued by the talents of gospel pianist Hovie Lister, Eva Mae LeFevre and classical pianist Victor Borge. Several of my cousins had the knack to play piano along with their singing, so I had hoped the gene passed to me as well.

Of course, as a child of eight, my repertoire was a bit slim. In spite of the best efforts of my teacher, I was not the most proficient student who worked through “The Minuet” and “The Entertainer.”
No matter my deficiencies, I had a true desire and my mother supported that to no end. She worked overtime to afford a walnut Currier Spinet piano and pay for my lessons.

One day while sitting in my elementary school room, the entire course of my life changed. Dr. Donald Grisier, DeKalb County orchestra teacher, came into the room and played Chubby Wise and Ervin Rouse’s “Orange Blossom Special” on the violin. I have not been worth shooting since.

I had heard my great Uncle Tom Franks play the violin like his father had done before him at family gatherings, but now there was someone willing to sit and teach me.
After convincing my parents that I wanted to learn violin, I signed up. My mother once again went out of her way to see that I got the opportunity by renting an instrument. I also continued my piano study, but eventually it did fade away in the shadow of the fiddle. I realized I was not going to be the next Hovie Lister or Victor Borge. The fiddle would stick and lead me to some amazing places.

While I would never consider myself a pianist, the knowledge I gained while learning about the instrument has served me extremely well in every musical endeavor. The experience prepared me for a lifetime of lessons in almost every pursuit I’ve chosen to follow.

So, while at times children may be spoiled by piles and piles of material gifts that simply get laid aside, if a child shows interest in music, even if the child has absolutely no talent for it, and may someday lay the expensive instrument aside for other pursuits, remember as the child’s practicing causes the paint to peel in the family

room, love of music is a gift that will last a lifetime and can span the generations.


03/16/11

Ugh....computers

Computers truly have changed the world. Whether you like them or not, unfortunately they are part of our lives at least until the lights are turned out permanently.
My first experience with computers came when I was in high school. There was only one computer terminal in the whole school and there was no such thing as the Internet.

In Ms. D’orazio’s room, we called up a larger mainframe computer over a modem. We were able to play games and create programs by running punch cards using the basic codes through a key punch card reader.

I always enjoyed spending time after school coming up with interesting ways to get the computer to do unusual things.

Of course, as I entered college this gave me a leg up on many of my fellow students.

As a whole though, while I was ahead of the curve on the basics as the innovation of the personal computer stormed across the land, I largely resisted its infiltration into mainstream America.

I knew as each business and home adopted their own personal computer for the center of their bookkeeping and transactions, the business world would change and without electricity, many businesses and services could grind to a halt.

With the Internet connecting all of these individual computers, providing a way for communication, I saw the medium as an innovative way to market almost anything if you could only figure out a way to get computer owners to come to your website.

We have seen especially in the earliest days of the Internet, companies spending large amounts of money to get their web addresses in front of millions on the Superbowl and other television events.

Of course, many have went bust trying to get people’s attention. Some that have got it have yet to turn a clear profit.

Whether you sell something over the Internet or not, the Internet, like any resource, can provide you with good or bad information.

As a writer, the Internet provides endless opportunities for research at the click of a button. Information is only as good as the source, so you must always check and double check.

One person told me it is a relaxing form of entertainment. “I can just get lost in the endless stream of information.”

It perhaps is just that, it is another form of entertainment. Type in a word and you can just keep on reading and learning. You can also find videos of your favorite TV shows, movies and music to buy of all types.

You can type your own name in a search engine and discover that there are many others who share your same name.

Some may be doctors, lawyers or even actors.
In my case, I discovered myself listed on websites originating from all over the world in numerous languages referencing my work in television, film and music.

I found preachers, athletes, and other writers who also carry a similar name.

I once received a call from a person who followed my career when I was a child. That person tracked me down after calling three other people by my name found on the Internet, one of whom recently passed on. While I was not found via that route, they eventually did locate me and the fan was glad to discover that I was still alive and kicking.

At the same time it is a wonderful resource, it can be a negative influence because, much like today’s television, you never know what you are going to find when you turn it on and begin to “surf.”

Such uncontrolled access to information is what helped bring about Internet filtering at schools and libraries.
Is the Internet a good thing or a bad thing?

We have recently seen it used as a rallying tool to bring about revolutions in the Middle East. Instead of a man on horse back spreading the word, or a telegraph operator taping out a message, today with the stroke of a few keys the world can be moved.

Like anything else, it can be used for a tool for good or a tool for evil. It is truly up to the user which master it will serve.

Clearly, when applied to improving your ability to get a job, achieve a better education, learn about the world we live in, further your faith in God through study, or keep up to date on happenings in your community by visiting your local newspaper website, it can be a tremendous force for good.

The only thing I suggest to the next generation and all these companies that depend on computers to sell their products – have the ability to use a pencil and piece of paper to carry on when the computer is down. It is ridiculous to thing that we have advanced ourselves into a world where we can no longer do business without electricity or the Internet.

03/09/11

The one that got away

Grandma Kitty pulled her shiny case knife from the pocket of her blue apron. She reached down far to the bottom of the cane pole and cut it.

“This will make a good one,” she said, as she handed it to a three-year-old me. Then she cut one for herself.
As we walked to her favorite spot along Frogleg Creek, I could not help but take a peak within the small metal pail she had given me to carry. I knew it would have something good for us to eat, like some chocolate pie or a piece of coconut cake.

I almost fell down when as I looked beneath the lid, only to have my hopes dashed by a bucket of dirt filled with red wigglers.

“Granny, what are we going to have to eat,” I said. “I thought this was our food.”

“It is food, but it is for the fishes,” she said.

“You will have to wait till we find some berries or maybe a plum tree,” she said.

“What are we going to do with these poles?” I said.
“I am going to tie some string on them and you and I are going to spend the morning fishing,” she said.

As we walked along the trail, I noticed a stick lying across the trail. I rushed ahead to pick it up.

“Hold your horses, boy,” she said, as she took her cane pole and popped on the back of what I thought was a stick. The stick slithered away like a bolt of lightening.
“That’s your first rule of being in the mountains, son — be careful where you put your hands,” she said. “We share this space with all kinds of critters. Some don’t care much for sharing.”

As we reached the spot along the banks of the creek, she said. “This is it.”

Conveniently, a huge oak log had fallen there. Upon it we sat.

“All you need to do is put one of the wigglers on the safety pin and drop your line in the water like this,” she said.

She handed me the pole. Then she fixed the other one, carefully attaching the string, safety pin and adding the worm.

As we sat there side by side with our poles in the water, I know I probably asked her a million questions about the leaves, the trees and the little green frog which hopped on my shoe.

She patiently answered every one. We sat there for what seemed like hours enjoying the mountain breeze which flowed over the Gravelly Spur and along the Frogleg Creek.

“Well, we better be getting back,” she said as she pulled her line out of the water.

Just as her pin touched the top of the cold waters, the biggest fish I ever saw jumped by her line.

“Granny, did you see that?” I said. “We can’t leave, we have not got that fish yet.”

“Yes, we did,” she said.

Close your eyes, “Can you see it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then you will carry that fish with you everywhere you go,” she said.

“So we did catch a fish,” I said. “Today, we caught the biggest fish of all.”

“We caught something much better,” she said. “We caught each other.”

03/02/11

Looking towards the peach state
 
While I often say I have had one leg in Georgia and the other in Tennessee since my childhood, I will always be drawn to the things that make the peach state great. I have driven its highways and back roads, played in its theaters and music parks and acted in endless hours of television filmed in the Georgia heat and cold.

If I am looking for a strong dose of Georgia, usually I don’t have to look farther than the writings of Augusta columnist Don Rhodes. Whether he is focusing his amazing skills for books on the life and times of some of our greatest sports and musical figures such as Ty Cobb or James Brown, or true stories of the unsolved or unexplained in his “Mysteries and Legends Georgia,” his dedication to detail finds both the unique and local flavor that makes each community in every state in our country stand vibrantly on the colors that they cherish and reflect.

That is much of the focus of his latest collaboration with photographer Jeff Barnes in his new project “Georgia Icons – 50 Classic Views of the Peach State.”

He shares a closer look at many of the places I have seen in my travels across Georgia and some that I will now make a point to see next time I am in that area.

Close to my own home in Northwest Georgia, Rhodes revisits the story of Chief John Ross which he featured in detail “Mysteries and Legends Georgia” to highlight the John Ross House in Rossville, Ga.

A statue of Brer Rabbit that stands tall on it back legs in Eatonton, Ga. reminds me of my childhood fascination with the stories of another columnist Joel Chandler Harris. Of course, I saw Disney’s “Song of the South” over and over again as a child.

On one of my final vacation trips with my late mother we walked down through her Georgia memories including the impact that World War II had on her and her Tennessee family. That trip took us to FDR’s Little White House, another Georgia icon the duo highlights from Warm Springs, Ga. The photo brought our visit vividly back to my memory.

What icons do you think of when you think of Georgia: peanuts, peaches, apples, cotton, Claxton Fruit Cake, Vidalia Onions, Coca-Cola ®,  – well they are all included along with landmarks recognizing stars from James Brown to Ray Charles.

The new coffee table book also highlights natural and geological wonders such as the coastal islands, Stone Mountain, as well as homes of Georgia notables such a Juliette Gordon Low, founder of the Girl Scouts, and writer Flannery O’Connor.

If you enjoy seeing and learning about places you have never been or simply want to find some new places to visit next time you are down in the peach state, I urge you to check out  “Georgia Icons” from Globe Pequot Press. It is available through Amazon.com and most Internet outlets.

02/23/11

Pick it Perkins

The Grammy award-winning 1987 recording “The Class of ’55” linked in the minds of another generation a group of entertainers cultivated by the late Sam Phillips in Memphis.

Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison and Elvis changed the face of American music as they fused the sounds of rhythm and blues from the Mississippi Delta with the sounds of country and western and pop, creating what became rock and roll.

When my manager, Jeff Goodwin, called in 1993 to say I was to co-host a special tribute to one of these legends, I was so excited.

One of my favorite 45 records growing up was a Sun recording of Carl Perkins singing “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Honey Don’t.”

Released on New Years Day 1956, the copy I listened to over and over was created by Plastics Products in Memphis and dispatched by Sun Records to place in jukeboxes around the country.

Beginning in early 1956, this copy spun repeatedly in my mother’s restaurant, Robinson’s Café, on Oak Street in downtown Chattanooga, as teens and adults dropped their nickels and dimes into that old jukebox.

The event was a black tie gathering featuring a special performance by Carl in his home of Jackson, Tenn. Not only would I get to perform on stage with Carl but also I was to co-host the event with “Dukes of Hazzard” and “Enos” star Sonny Shroyer, who I watched on television religiously growing up.

Both Sonny and I arrived at the event early and visited with Carl. We all were to perform in front of a symphony orchestra that evening.

Carl appeared much as I expected him. He arrived in blue jeans and a plain shirt as he greeted each of us.
I told him what an honor it was to be a part of the evening, and brought along my 45 for him to autograph.
He did it without hesitation, while saying autographed original copies of his first million-seller sell for a premium.

He took the time to sit down and tell me how he wrote the song while he and his wife, Val, were living in public housing.

He said he had performed at a dance the night before and noticed a man out on the dance floor trying to keep his girlfriend from stepping all over his shoes.

At around three the next morning, he rose out of bed and went to the kitchen looking for something to write on. All he had was an old potato sack. He sat down and in just a few minutes wrote out in pencil the words that had come to him.

He said Val came out to see what he was doing, he handed her the song. After she read it, he said she knew right then that it was going to be a hit.

While I was excited about just meeting and getting to perform with Carl, my managers had another goal up their sleeve. At the time, they hoped two possibilities might arise from the meeting. I understand at the time that Disney was negotiating with Carl for the rights to his story for the movie to be called “Go Cat Go.”

My managers, with Carl’s circle of advisors, were pushing for me to play the icon in the film. Since Carl was to retain creative control including casting approval, my managers told me that the possibility of playing the role was very strong. Alas, the film never materialized. It would have been a blast to portray one of the class of ’55.

They also hoped that a couple of songwriting sessions might develop from the meeting but, due to various conflicts on both our parts, neither of us were able to make that ever come to pass either, although we stayed in touch throughout the remainder of his life.

That night in Jackson, Sonny and I walked on stage in front of a packed house bantering back and forth. We brought the house down with our country jokes and guided the evening of music and accolades for Carl with almost seamless precision.

As the evening came to a close, I rushed back stage, quickly tightened up my bow, and tucked my fiddle up under my arm. It seemed I did not even have time to get nervous. As soon as the instrument was in hand, Carl brought me back out on stage. I took my position as the conductor raised his baton. Carl looked over, smiled, and gazed back out into the audience. It seemed that that moment was endless almost in slow motion.

There I was standing in the shadow of the first entertainer to cross over in all the fields of chart music of the fifties, rhythm and blues and pop and country. A performer, who, if not for a twist of fate on the way to appear on the Perry Como Show when he was sidelined for months after a car accident, could have beat fellow ’55 classmate Elvis out of his first RCA number one, “Heartbreak Hotel,” at least for a while.

As I anxiously watched him, it seemed he just soaked up the love given by the audience as they waited in anticipation for the hit that had spun on my old beige portable turntable more times than I could count.

Like an explosion from a cannon, the words flowed from his mouth, “It’s one for the money,” as easily as they did upon that old potato sack decades before. The conductor moved his baton and we struck the chords. We did not stop until the audience was on its feet begging for more.

In my mind, I was too!!! I hated for that evening to end, but the little things he showed me about his music are still a part of what I do each time I walk on stage.

02/16/11

Claude Akins served with Southern sensibility
 
Since I grew up during a time when network television executives decided arbitrarily to cancel any show that had a tree or a bale of hay in it, getting to watch shows such as “The Waltons,” “Dukes of Hazzard,” “BJ and the Bear” and “The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo” were a real treat.

One of my favorites short-lived series featured actor Claude Akins as “Sheriff Lobo.” Akins took up the Lobo character in 1978 in the “BJ and the Bear” series pilot with Greg Evigan and later went on to have his own spin-off series which ran in 1979-81.

While Lobo worked to get ahead by pulling some kind of scam working with “Deputy Perkins,” played by Mills Watson, Brian Kerwin, who played “Deputy Birdie Hawkins,” always managed to turn their underhanded scheme into an award-winning police bust. With each episode, Lobo just couldn’t seem to get ahead financially with his underhanded plans as Hawkins kept making him look better and better.
Akins and Watson made up what could be one of the best classic television comedy teams of all time. Unfortunately, critics didn’t like the show, and after two seasons it ended. This was a period when critics seemed to berate anything which reflected anything but urban themes.

Akins had another great series entitled “Movin’ On” from 1974-76 where he played a trucker Sonny Pruett.   For me, I assume this show was airing after my bedtime. So my memories of this series are not as vivid as Lobo, but when I was around him years later, I still heard fans call him by that character name which they came to admire him as. He always shared his time with them. He also had great runs pitching products for companies such as AAMCO and Poly Grip. His credits go back to the early 1950s appearing in almost every notable TV series.

When Akins walked on the set of “In the Heat of the Night” in 1991 to play “Benjamin Sloan” in the episode entitled “An Eye for an Eye,” I found him to be so much more than the Lobo character which made me laugh as a child. He was playing a man seeking revenge over the loss of his son to prison. So, he decided to kidnap District Attorney Darnelle’s (Wilbur Fitzgerald) daughter.

He was a star in every sense of the word and could have easily been accorded all that goes along with that after 40 years of creating a name known around the world.

After six hours on the job, we would break for lunch and go to catering. It was custom that the actors would go through the line first, followed by the crew. When we arrived at the catering truck and looked up to order our food, there stood Claude in a pressed white apron with a ladle in hand, taking our orders and dishing up our piping hot roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy.

Instead of going back to his trailer and having the production assistant bring him a plate of food, he stood there serving up meals until the last extra went through the line. Then he filled a plate and joined us at the tables.

As a guest star, actors are only with the show a few days, and most never return. It was a unique experience to find a guest star that went out of his way to be a part of the show family.

Claude served us every day he was on the set. I asked him why he did it. He said that the crew works hard for the actors every day, and it was a way to show them he appreciated what they were doing. I also think it was a wonderful way for Claude to show the crew that he was the same as them. He was simply someone performing his craft to the best of his ability.

I enjoyed the time with Claude, and I had high hopes of working with him again. Alan Autry and I had planned to include him in a project we were developing for television. Unfortunately, Claude passed away in 1994 before that dream was realized.

For an old Georgia boy from just down the road in Nelson, Claude Akins certainly went far. I believe his Southern manners took him a long way — all the way to the top. Once he was there, I believe he never forgot what it was like when he started his climb up the success ladder. Since many actors support their careers as waiters, it just shows the great ones are never too good to serve up some food.

It was a pleasure to know Claude and call him a friend but it was even a greater opportunity for me to learn how a star should be each and every day. We sure could use a few more class acts like Claude Akins showing those who are now considered to be stars what stardom is all about.

02/09/11

A sweeping success

Performing on the road has its great moments and even a few that are less great. Needless to say there are often things to laugh at along the way.

One of my devoted readers said that I have been too serious of late and needed to spread some cheer so here is one of my favorite experiences along the way. Maybe it will bring you a smile.

I was introduced to a large hall of about 1,000 folks gathered to see our show. We were in the midst of singing “Little Girl of Mine in Tennessee” when a older feller about six foot tall in tattered blue coveralls and carrying a broom sweeps his way across the stage in front of the band, facing the band, all the time paying no mind to the crowd behind him or the band in front of him.

His slightly slumped appearance, along with his total disregard for his surroundings and his intense concentration on his task, began to draw some scattered giggles from the audience.

I imagined many were wondering what I or he would do next.

As I realized he was not just passing through but had decided to set up housekeeping in front of us, I stopped the tune and said, “Excuse me, were trying to do a show here,” and the feller replied “A show?”

He turned slowly towards the audience and waved as he smiled from ear to ear, saying “Hello, hello,” not hardly missing anyone as he greeted the crowd.

“Do you mind, these people paid a lot of money to see our show,” I said.
He walked over to me at the mike and looked out in the audience.

“These people paid money to see you?” he asked.
“Yes, they did,” I said.
“Miracles never cease,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, before realizing what had passed. “Heyyyy.”

“I use to play in a band, a big band. We worked all over New York, Chicago,” he said.
“Really what did you call your band?” I asked.
“The broom boys,” he replied.
“The broom boys,” I said
“Yeah, we really cleaned up,” he said.

“Did you sing with that group?” I asked. He said, “Yes.”
“Would you like to sing with us?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve got so every time I sing I cry,” he said.
“Then why do you sing?” I asked.
“So I can cry,” he said.
“Why do you cry?” I asked.
“Cause I can’t sing,” he said.

“Do you think I could join your band?” he asked.
“Well I don’t know. All these boys had to go through an interview,” I said.
“I can do that,” he said.
I agreed and started by asking, “What’s your name?”
“I was named after my Ma and Pa,” he said.
“Alright, what was their name?” I said.
“Pa was Ferdinand and Ma was Liza,” he said.
“So, what did they name you?” I asked.
“Ferdiliza,” he said.

“Where were you born?” I asked.
“Kentucky,” he replied.
“What part?” I asked.
“All of me. You didn’t think I came in pieces did you?” he said.

“Why did you leave Kentucky?” I asked.
“Couldn’t bring it with me,” he said.

“Where do you live now?” I asked.
“I live with a friend,” he said.
“Where does you friend live,” I asked.
“He lives with me,” he said.
“Where do you both live?” I asked.
“We live together,” he said.

“Where were your forefathers born?” I asked.
“My what?” he asked.
“Your forefathers. Where were they born?” I asked.
“I ain’t got but one father,” he said.
“Everybody has forefathers,” I said. “Mine came from Scotland, Germany and England.”
“Well if I got four fathers, three of them ain’t never been home,” he said.

“So do I get the job?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know let me think on it,” I told him.
“OK, but don’t hurt yourself,” he replied.

“Hey, that’s no way to talk to someone if you want a job,” I said.
“Your right, I better get back to work,” he said.
I stopped him and asked one more question.
“When you say things like that, doesn’t a still small voice tell you you’re doing something wrong?”
“No, its usually a big loud voice. Have you met my wife?” he said.

“In the future I hope you are more careful about where you try to clean up,” I told him.
“Oh, I will be next time. I’ll bring a bigger broom,” he commented as he glided off stage.

Comedy has always been a key part of performing in live shows: the antics of clowns in circuses; the banter and quips of comics in medicine shows and vaudeville; to the jokes we hear offered in sitcoms today. Country comedians are a special breed; I am honored to in my life played both the comedian and the straight man roles of the comedy team with many funny people and to be recognized for that role by Appalachian historian Loyal Jones in his book "Country Music: Humorist and Comedians." There is nothing funnier than two people working off each other’s comedic timing in front of an audience. I put together the comedy routine above originally for the talented comedic actor Sonny Shroyer. I hope that a couple of the lines brought you a smile.
 —
Comedy routine © 1992 Peach Picked Publishing. Used by permission.


02/02/11

Editor's note: I have chosen to share with you my column released to newspapers for 02/09/11 due to the timing and topic. The video above is the performance discussed in this column.

'I Wish You Knew' – Charlie Louvin
 
My fledging Peachtree Pickers were competing for the second time in the Chattahoochee Valley Fiddler's Convention bluegrass band competition. As we stepped upon the stage and began performing, a Louvin Brothers song – “I Wish You Knew” gained us the favor of the audience. It was Grand Ole Opry stars Jim and Jesse’s respect of the Louvin’s music that introduced me to the song combined with the admiration of my mandolin teacher Eugene Akers.
Learning it made a huge difference in our performance and we made a good showing competing against adult bluegrass performers bringing home fourth place. The judge’s decision brought a host of boos as I walked to the stage to accept the award, our songs had gained so much favor with the audience, and they felt we were slighted.

It was about a year later in 1983 that Charlie Louvin sat on the opposite side of a picnic table from me. We watched the folks breaking up and leaving the Louvin Brothers Music Park in Henagar, Ala. and his first big show at the new park.

I was still working to gain attention for my teen-age bluegrass band.

That day Charlie took the time to share with me some of his experiences as he imparted his wisdom from many years as a performer. Initially performing with his brother Ira, who played mandolin and sang tenor, Charlie played guitar and sang lead. They recorded some of the most outstanding brother duets that any genre ever created.

The late Eugene Akers was a huge fan. He even owned one of Ira’s mandolins, which I played on stage on numerous occasions.

When they went their separate ways professionally, Charlie gained success as a solo artist scoring numerous hits and of course, spent another fifty years as part of the Grand Ole Opry. His brother Ira died in an automobile accident.

I was always partial to Charlie’s singing of songs such as “See the Big Man Cry, Mama” or “Will You Visit Me on Sundays.” He was one of those singers that could make you cry with his voice.

As we sat there that day, in a way I could see an artist that had worked hard to stay relevant in an ever-changing music world.

He commented to me how much of his career in music was spent in what seemed to be an endless progression of keeping up a band and a bus. Those were words that stuck with me as a young artist and in fact probably helped me decide what business model I would follow as I navigated through my career.

I was saddened to hear that Charlie lost his battle with pancreatic cancer passing away at the age of 83 in War Trace, Tenn.

Through the years, Charlie and I performed on several of the same shows and visited many times, especially, when I was working around the Opry.

While the Louvins inspired the first generation of rockers, I was pleased to see in recent years a whole new audience of rockers discovered Charlie and helped to create a resurgence in his popularity giving him a chance to entertain to the millennium generation.
He and his brother were inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2001. He won a Grammy ® nomination in 2007 and a tribute album “Livin’, Lovin’, Losin’: Songs of the Louvin Brothers” won the award for Best Country Album in 2004.

Fans and friends alike will miss Charlie. It is a blessing that he gave us a career spanning seven decades leaving so much wonderful music to enjoy.

Personally, I want to say to Charlie, I wish you knew how much your sharing your gifts influenced my growth, my hopes and aspirations. Thank you….


01/26/11

The amazing Mae Axton

We each in our lives have people who step up and say, “I believe in you.” Sometimes they are family, sometimes friends or business associates.

Through the years, many have stepped into my corner and cheered me along or shared their counsel.

One of the most unique individuals that I ever had the pleasure of meeting and working with was the late Mae Boren Axton. Many in the public might not know her name, but for those who spent any time in Nashville prior to 1997, she was country and rock and roll royalty. To those who knew her, she was Mama Mae.

As a writer, she has the distinction of writing Elvis’s “Heartbreak Hotel” with the late Tommy Durden.

She was a teacher in Florida who, in her spare time, wrote for publications like Time and Life magazines. An assignment would place her smack dab in the middle of what was then called “hillbilly” music as they sent her to Nashville to do a feature in the early 1950s, where she did interviews with folks such as Minnie Pearl and Roy Acuff. That fateful assignment would place her in a position that would make her one of the best-known behind-the-scenes people in the entertainment world.

As an entertainer or songwriter, to reach any level of success, a performer has to pay their dues in Nashville becoming a part of what makes up the musical fabric of the town.

During the period in my life when I was spending a great deal of time pursuing a mainstream music record deal, Mama Mae became one of my biggest allies and cheerleaders.

She had forged a career in publicity promoting some of country music’s greatest stars such as Hank Snow, Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson and Porter Wagoner, as well as Hollywood’s films.

She taught me that there is no one you cannot reach if you know how to do it. In my life I have found that to be true. She once shared with me a story of how she managed to reach one of the biggest magazine publishers in the country and convince him to pull a story on Porter Wagoner minutes before it was to go to press.

Following a performance I did at an Ernest Tubb Record Shop Fan Appreciation Dinner, I met Mama Mae and she invited me to meet with her at her office. As president of DPI records in Nashville, she brought me in and we discussed adding me to the label’s roster.

At the time DPI was one of the most visible independents labels. I would join Mae’s son Hoyt Axton and rising DPI recording artist Mario Martin on the label.

Before the deal could be solidified, Mama Mae’s doctors encouraged her to retire. She suggested I not make the deal with DPI and she would continue to help me.

She continued working with me until she passed away in 1997.

Whenever I was in Nashville, her door was always open to me. Her beautiful home reflected elegance and countless memories. Her walls were covered with awards, honors and photos of her favorite people. Walking through the halls was like visiting the Country Music Hall of Fame, from her earliest images with Elvis, Roger Miller, Bill Monroe, Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire and so many others. When I stayed at her house I never knew who might be bunking in the room next door, from Milton Berle to Dennis Weaver.

She always kept me in the forefront of what was happening in Nashville, making sure that label heads, producers other stars knew what I was up to.

Mae would make sure when something important was happening; I would be a part of it. She made arrangements for me to appear on Ralph Emery’s Nashville Now just before my network musical debut.

In 1996, while I was living in California, Mae went to the Mayo Clinic. While visiting the offices of the Academy of Country Music in Hollywood, former ACM director Fran Boyd called her to wish her well. I joined in by playing “Orange Blossom Special” on the fiddle over the speakerphone to cheer her up.

On my last visit with her just days before she passed away, I arranged for her to attend Jim and Jesse’s 50th Anniversary celebration being held at the Grand Ole Opry. I escorted her to the event and we had a wonderful evening visiting with friends.

That weekend she was especially supportive of my writing as we sat in her office and went over my recent endeavors. She encouraged me to continue to use my talents no matter what opportunities were ahead of me. In many ways, I think she knew her time was near. She took the time to share many stories with me that she said she hoped someone would remember. One thing she wanted to share with me was an original disc jockey platter of “Heartbreak Hotel.” Since she was not feeling well, I told her we could go down to the basement and get it next visit. Unfortunately, that did not happen.

She arranged her memorial service in advance down to every detail. Ralph Emery hosted; Sandy Brooks, Garth’s former wife spoke; her grandchildren sang. While I sat in the church before the services, flowers, the original draft of “Heartbreak Hotel” and a large photo of she and Elvis surrounded her. As I waited there several stars arrived to pay their respects, Jim Ed Brown and Helen Cornelius. Lee Greenwood came in from his theater. I remember well the tears he shed as we talked near her casket. Sitting there was like looking at a who’s who gathering of music. During the service I sat next to Steve Wariner, and I believe Gail Davies or Victoria Shaw. After the service, she had planned a catered dinner at the Axton mansion. I remember Tanya Tucker looking endlessly at Mae's photo gallery. I shared with Hoyt how much Mama Mae had meant to me and how the mansion was a second home for me in Nashville. He told me as long as he lived, it would be my Nashville home.

So many lives were touched and so many careers were pushed along gently by the loving presence of Mama Mae.

Are you a Mama Mae to someone? Is there someone in your community, club, or family that you are encouraging and sharing your wisdom with? We can’t all write one of history’s biggest songs, or have major stars a phone call away, but we can make a difference in the life of someone and invest our time in their future.

01/19/11

Where do we go from here?
 
I remember it as if it was yesterday. The doctor had told my Mom that she might have breast cancer. I wasn’t much more than eight years old and hardly understood what it meant. All I know is that it worried her and she was extremely sad. I was sitting on the bed next to her. She had been crying and I went in trying to console her and make her smile. I do remember that she did stop long enough to smile at me and tell me that she loved me.

That evening I peaked through the crack in the door as she told my father the news. They sat and looked around the living room not realizing I was there. I could see it in their eyes, although they put a brave face on in front of me later – Where do we go from here?

Back then it seemed there were not as many opportunities for survival, treatments and tests almost sounded like the dark ages. Of course, for a young boy fearing the loss of his mother, it all sounded scary – especially the parts I was not suppose to hear.

It seemed like forever until the doctors could take a biopsy and find out the results.  After a couple
of days of nervousness, the real news was in… she didn’t have cancer.

The joy of the news simply permeated our home for weeks. It seemed that my mother and father had a new lease on life. It took the fear that life as we knew it might end, to rejuvenate their daily existence.

They laughed more, cared more, shared more and all because it all almost slipped through their fingers.
Coming from two strong mountain families, they were both taught that loss was a way of life and they should accept it, pick up and go on. I am glad they didn’t at that time have to endure the loss but instead received a lesson in living each day to the fullest.

I learned a lot watching them then, but even more as I watched them endure through other illnesses that were really life threatening and see them face each day with strength, dignity and an endurance that seemed to come straight from God.

I hope as rough patches come in my life, I can muster only a small bit of the courage they showed to me as I watched them both live life until God called them home.

I pray that your children and grandchildren are seeing in you a lesson of courage, hope, love and faith that prepares them for the days ahead of each of us.


01/12/11

Snow and the pot bellied stove

 As I placed the log into the black cast iron stove, I watched the orange sparks rise up from the burning embers within its belly in grandma's parlor.

I often stood at its front hopeful that it would make me feel warmer. It usually did at least on the one side until I turned and let the other warm.

Of course, I was usually one in a line of young cousins who had just come in from playing in the snow wishing to take their turn at the fire.

Snows could be beautiful as a child as you looked out the frosted pane as it gently drifted up against the cracks in the side of the house.

I remember my first snowman like it was yesterday, rolling those balls into a nearly perfect sphere and stacking them on top of each other until it resembled Burl Ive's character in "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer."

No matter how hard I tried though, I never got mine to sing, dance or tell any stories, but it was fun trying.

Going out in the snow wasn't an easy task though from our home because it always involved being covered in full winter wear. For my mother that meant a blue shiny coat that made you resemble the Michelin man, and layers upon layers below that.

First, some white-waffled long johns, then your regular clothes - shirt and pants, then a pull-over sweater that if seen by any hungry wolf would send it running for its life; finally that puffy blue coat. But that wasn't everything; you still needed the itchy sweater pullover hat and the hand-knitted scarf from our neighbor. The coats hood came up over that of course.

So usually when you walked outside, you resembled the girl in Willy Wonka that ate the blueberry candy. If you fell down you would roll until you hit something to stop you.

This approach to dressing was always a drawback should you get in a snowball battle because you couldn't see anything that wasn't directly in front of you.

Despite the drawbacks of the dressing experience, when you did get the chance for a snowball victory, it was all worth it. Besides, in that outfit, no matter how hard they threw, you barely felt it unless they hit you in the face.

The adventure would end when I heard my mother or grandmother calling my name from the porch. I knew then that it was time to head in and I stopped by and picked up some wood off the pile as I came in.

Before I could stick it in the stove, I would have to get out of those now wet clothes.

Once deflated, I would pick up the wood by the door, and into the parlor I went picking up the glove we used on the hot door handle and stuck the wood inside watching the glow of the warmth as I warmed my
hands in front of the open door.

Around me were my mom and dad seated on the couch, my grandmother in her rocker, two of my aunts resting on kitchen chairs near the stove, and a couple of cousins playing board games on the floor. The
laughter rose as gently in that room as the snow fell outside, sometimes seeming to cover over the howling winds that passed us.

I always hated to see the evening end and it was time for laughter to turn to sleep as we traded the stove for a stack of handmade quilts keeping us warm on an old iron bed as we watched our breath rise as
the snow fell outside our window pane.

01/05/11

Warsh and wear

Today most folks don’t give a second thought if they get their clothes dirty to go and change into another outfit.

In the valley below the Gravelly Spur during the great Depression, an abundance of clothes in the closet was not something that most folks experienced.

The Wood boys, like everyone, were often faced with limited things to wear. Little Woody had long grown out of his simple white cotton dress that he wore in the shadow of his late mother whose hands had crafted it.

The dresses provided mothers the added benefit to keep track of a child when they had to leave the room by lifting the old iron bedpost and placing it on the tail of the gown. That kept the toddlers from toddling into mischief.
By this point though, the young boy had graduated to two pairs of overalls and two shirts.

After working in the fields two days in a row, both pairs of his overalls and his two shirts were stained with red dirt and mud. He came to his older sister and said “I haven’t got anything to wear to school tomorrow.”

She took him into the bedroom reached into the closet, pulled out her extra dress, and laid it on the bed.
“Get that on and I’ll wash up your overalls.”

Little Woody didn’t have much choice in the matter it was either put the dress on or run around in his all together. So out of the clod covered overalls and into the gray colored dress he slipped.

So even though it was late in the day, she pulled out the washtub and the warshboard and scrubbed them overalls from rusty brown to a faded blue.

She took them out and hung them to dry on the clothesline, as one would normally do.

As the family went to sleep that night, the temperature dropped way below freezing. When the family slowly made their way out into the kitchen wiping the sleep from their eyes with the rooster’s crow, little Woody’s older sister sent one of the other boys to fetch the overalls while she cooked.

He brought them in frozen solid, straight as a board. He stands them in the corner taking a bit of delight in the feat.
Woody is standing there in her gray dress and says “What are we going to do, I can’t were those to school and I am sure not wearing this dress.”

She took the overalls and shirts and placed them on chairs by the fireplace and within just a short time the overalls and shirts had melted into something looking like the occupants had simply disappeared. She quickly ironed one of the shirts.

Woody could not wait to get out of the dress and as soon as the overalls were warm enough and before the iron had hit them, he was into one of the pairs and out of that dress.

While the experience might not have been so bad for little Woody if his older brothers did not see the whole thing as an opportunity for some good old fashion ribbing once they got to school.

When the Moss brothers asked the Wood boys what they had done the night before each mentioned some adventure they had but one of them had to say, “Woody didn’t do anything. He was afraid to come out of the house cause someone might see him wearing sister’s dress.”

Needless to say this was enough to get Little Woody’s blood to boiling and with a little more agitation its safe to say that clean pair of overalls picked up a little schoolyard dirt as the kidders found themselves on the receiving end of his frustration.

Good thing his sister washed both pairs of overalls or he’d been back in that dress all over again.

12/29/10

What a wonderful world

When I was just about just about six years old, I remember our family had a special reason to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s Day – my brother Jerry returned from his service in the Navy during the Vietnam War.

For my brother, whose birthday fell on New Year’s Eve, I am sure that was an even more fantastic present than he could have wished for in his life.

Outside of this particular celebration, we never went out of the way to celebrate the changing of the years.

Many of us look on January 1 as a chance to begin life a new with resolutions of things we would like to see ourselves accomplish in the new year – lose weight, exercise more, spend more quality time with family.
Why do we need another January 1 to do these things?

Each morning we wake up, sit up and place our feet upon the floor. If we are blessed with mobility, we get up and begin to walk and fulfill the promise of the day.
A brand new day with all the possibilities that entails – the golden rays of sun dance across the sky as it greets the new day.

What can we do today?

Go fishing? Reconnect with an old friend? Clean the house from top to bottom? Learn how to dance? Learn how to paint? How about learn how to fix the car in the driveway and get it running smoothly again?

What will the day bring? Will the phone ring opening up yet another adventure that we have never imagined?

I remember an episode of “The Andy Griffith Show” where Buddy Ebsen starred as a hobo who influenced the young “Opie” with his different approach to life.

I recall him telling “Opie” that tomorrow is the perfect day to do anything.

I am not one that believes that tomorrow is the perfect day for everything. Today is the perfect day.

Want to lose weight? Want to start exercising? Want to change the direction of your life?

You woke up today, you are breathing, your heart is beating, and your mind is functioning. Why can’t you improve yourself today rather than waiting for tomorrow or that January 1 do over date?

Life is a blessing, in my opinion; we exist to improve the surroundings to which we are exposed in our walk upon this earth. Those surroundings include people, places, and things. Do we walk over that piece of trash on the sidewalk or pavement or pick it up and put it in the trash? Do we watch our actions and language in public so not to have a negative influence on those around us? Do we take care of our home, our car, public property in our community or those things belonging to others that we happen to use?

The New Year is at hand, if I place it in your hands, will you take it and make a difference in your life, in your family, in your community?

I pray we all do. If we each did, “What a wonderful world it would be.”

12/22/10

Love of the season

10/27/10

A hall of fame event

One of my favorite events of the year is the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame induction honoring those who have shared their lives with us on the road singing His message.

Among this year’s 2010 SGMA class of Hall of Fame inductees are Danny Gaither, Little Jan Buckner-Goff, and Sam Goodman, Bill Hefner, Connie Hopper and Arthur Smith.

This year’s event was combined with the Singing News Fan Awards and coincided with Dollywood’s 25th Anniversary. The combination provided a wonderful event honoring these legends and their families.

The late singer Danny Gaither’s (1938-2001) induction was accepted by his brother Bill Gaither, sister-in-law Gloria Gaither, and sister Mary Ann. During his career, Danny sang with all three performers as part of the Bill Gaither Trio. He also enjoyed a successful solo career. He garnered numerous awards.

For me one of the most moving appearances of the evening was the induction of my long-time friend Little Jan Buckner-Goff. Any one that ever heard Wendy Bagwell and the Sunliters knew the sound, talent, energy and pure joy that Little Jan brought to their music. She also shares those in her solo career and the combined work she does with her husband Dr. Jerry Goff. I was glad to see this induction!

The late Sam Goodman (1931-1991), of the Happy Goodman Family, was the spokesperson for that group through many of its decades of performing. He performed for presidents and received numerous awards. A couple of his most requested recitations were “The Pledge of Allegiance” and “Beauty of a Child.” His sonsaccepted his induction.

The late U.S. Representative Bill Hefner (1930-2009) performed with the Crusaders Quartet and then the Harvesters Quartet. His song “He’ll Pilot Me” became a favorite. He was a mainstay at the Grand Ole Gospel Reunion as its emcee. He served in Congress from 1974 until 1999. His daughter Stayce Hefner accepted his induction.

Singer, author and songwriter Connie Hopper of The Hoppers gave an encouraging and amusing acceptance speech reflecting on her decades with her family on the road. She has won numerous awards and continues to be a fan favorite. She has always been one of my favorite singers and people.

Guitar boogie Arthur Smith, who came into my home and millions of others each week via TV through “The Arthur Smith Show,” was the final inductee. You might wonder why the composer of “Dueling Banjos” might be inducted in the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame. The network radio and then TV star based from Charlotte, N.C. created an intimate atmosphere for his audiences sharing country and gospel music from coast to coast with many of the biggest gospel and country stars recording his original songs. He was one of my favorites and I think his induction is outstanding. His son Clay accepted his induction.

Country Music Hall of Famer Dolly Parton received the James D. Vaughn Impact Award at the event.
Parton accepted the award saying: “God bless you. I am so honored and so proud to accept this wonderful award. This is a great honor because I know this is a wonderful award to be given in the gospel community. It means a great deal to me and I will treasure it and we will hang it here in our museum.”

She thanked the audience for being supportive of her and Dollywood, invited the Kingdom Heirs to join her on stage where she shared these thoughts as she introduced her song “I Am a Seeker.”

“Most of us, we try to do good but we don’t always do it,” Parton said. “We know we are just sinners but we know that God loves us and is willing to forgive us.
“I remember this was 35 or 40 years ago in my kitchen in the first house my husband and I ever owned. I was trying my best to get my career going and my life going,” she said. “Trying to keep God in everything. You go through so many things, you say ‘Lord, I don’t feel like I am a good Christian. I feel like I am falling by the wayside trying to get so many things going. So I started writing this song. We know that we are nothing but with God we can be everything. We are holding on to Him.”

The Southern Gospel Music Association is a non-profit organization that maintains the Southern Gospel Museum and Hall of Fame, the only facility honoring this genre of music, for the historic preservation of the accomplishments of the music and its people. Museum hours match those of Dollywood. Donations are tax-deductible. Individuals and businesses may donate to assist with honoring inductees with special bronze plaques that are displayed in the Hall of Fame. For more information about the museum or its inductees, visit www.sgma.org.

10/20/10

Singing the praises

I enjoyed the great honor of attending the Singing News Fan Awards recently at Dollywood. This was the first time the event was held at Dollywood as they partnered also with the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame for its annual inductions. The Hall of Fame and its museum are at Dollywood.

The Singing News Fan Awards was previously offered as part of the National Quartet Convention where it could seat up to 20,000 attendees. As the change of venues was announced some fans shared their disappointment while other looked to the possibilities.
Dollywood handled thousands of visitors that Wednesday and even though the theater could welcome only 1,700 for the awards. Every seat was full; the park was full to hear many performances of gospel music.
Dollywood literally rolled out the red carpet for all the awards winners and inductees as they hosted a media event in the morning with Dolly Parton presiding. Later that afternoon following a celebrity style reception hosted by Dolly. At this event, Singing News honored one of my longtime friends Jerry Kirksey and his wife Carolyn on his retirement from his Editor in Chief position from the magazine. Thanks Jerry for helping to make our industry.

The stars walked the red carpet as fans five and six deep lined the parade route, smiling, waving and cheering their favorites with Dolly serving as grand marshal.

Then the nearly three-hour award show hosted by Karen Peck Gooch and Ivan Parker began and came off without a hitch. I understand 32,000 people tuned in over the web to watch the event.

Performances by most of the top names in Southern Gospel singing the top ten songs of the year helped to create a flow to the presentations and the inductions.
I was greatly impressed by the entire event and was honored to be present both as an artist and in my capacity as advisor to the SGMA Board of Directors.
The Booth Brothers garnered six awards with Michael taking Tenor of the Year, Ronnie receiving Favorite Lead Singer, Jim getting Favorite Baritone and the group taking home Favorite Trio and Favorite Artist with the latter presented by Dolly Parton. They also shared an award for Album of the Year with Greater Vision and Legacy Five for “Jubilee.”

The Triumphant Quartet brought home three awards including pianist Jeff Stice as Musician of the Year, Eric Bennett as Favorite Bass Singer, and the group being voted Favorite Traditional Quartet.

The Hoppers also garnered three awards including Mixed Group of the Year and Kim Hopper as Favorite Soprano and Favorite Female Artist. Kim was not able to attend because she was with her family as they dealt with the passing of her brother singer Tony Greene. Connie Hopper was also inducted into the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame.

The Perrys and Ivan Parker were next in line with two awards.

The Favorite Alto went to Libbi Stuffle of the Perrys and Song of the Year for “If You Knew Him” also was awarded to the Perrys.

Ivan took home Favorite Soloist and Favorite Male Singer.

As I mentioned last week the Marvin Norcross-Maurice Templeton Award went to all the members of The Primitive Quartet.

Morgan Easter of Jeff & Sheri Easter won the Individual Horizon Award while Soul'd Out Quartet received the Horizon Favorite Young Group.
The Young Artist of the Year winner is Brooklyn Collingsworth and the Songwriter of the Year is Rodney Griffin. Next week, I will share more about the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame inductees. They all deserve individual attention and I know you will find a brief look at them as pleasant as a walk down memory lane.

To close let me say, I have attended many award shows in my career. This one to me was the smoothest and most enjoyable I have ever been part of. My hat is off to Dollywood, Singing News and SGMA for all the hard work and the wonderful light that they shined on Southern Gospel Music. To find out more about this publication visit www.singingnews.com.

10/13/10

Bluegrass Honors

In recent weeks I have seen a lot of great bluegrass performers honored in their craft and sharing their talents with enthusiastic audiences.

This adventure in musical joy began with the Front Porch Fellowship Bluegrass Gospel Music Awards held at the National Quartet Convention in Louisville, Ky.
The Watkins Family kicked off the program in front of thousands of fans at the Freedom Expo Center. Also performing were the Rochesters, the Primitive Quartet, Cody Shuler and Pine Mountain Railroad and songwriter Jerry Salley.

The Rochesters sweeped with four out of six awards: Favorite Female Vocalist/Becky Rochester Matthews; Favorite Male Vocalist/Ben Rochester; Favorite Instrumentalist/Ben Rochester. and their “I’m A Soldier” was Favorite Song. The Primitive Quartet brought home Favorite Group, and New Artist of the Year is Triple L Band.

All six members of The Primitive Quartet were chosen to receive the Marvin Norcross-Maurice Templeton Award at the Singing News Fan Awards held at Dollywood at Pigeon Forge. The honor is uniquely given to those who distinguish themselves not only on the stage and studio but in their Christian walk both at home and on the road. A more appropriate choice could not have been made… Thanks to the Singing News for a perfect selection.

As I moved on to the International Bluegrass Music Association Awards and its Distinguished Achievement Luncheon in Nashville, I was pleased to see the list of honorees that received the Distinguished Achievement Award. This is the closest award just short of Hall of Fame induction. Among this year’s honorees was the amazingly talented fiddler Tex Logan. Peter Rowan presented the award to a fiddler whose performances have been described as a “Hurricane.” His unique talents also lended itself to songwriting giving bluegrass its classic Christmas offering “Christmas Time’s A Comin’.” Another one of the honorees was North Carolina radio personality Sherry Boyd who shared bluegrass to thousands in her 30-year career both on radio and as an emcee. The talents of performers Lynn Morris of the Lynn Morris Band and Pete Wernick of Hot Rize were also recognized. Bear Family Records founder Richard Weize was among the honorees. All of these were terrific choices.

The Whites and Jerry Douglas did a magnificent job guiding fans through the evening festivities at the Ryman Auditorium. The high point for me was when Earl Scruggs and his boys Gary and Randy came out to perform “You are My Flower” in honor of his late wife Louise who was inducted into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame for guiding the meteoric career of Flatt and Scruggs and Earl Scruggs Revue.

Even seated due to his age, Earl shared the flawless guitar licks that he made immortal so many years ago.
The unique talents of the late dancing, fiddling, banjo playing steamboat captain John Hartford also led him to his posthumous induction. He also authored “Gentle on my Mind.” A wonderful finale shared a host of artists performing this classic song.

Other award winners included: Entertainer Of The Year - Dailey & Vincent; Vocal Group Of The Year - Dailey & Vincent; Instrumental Group Of The Year - Michael Cleveland and Flamekeeper; Male Vocalist Of The Year - Russell Moore; Female Vocalist Of The Year - Claire Lynch;Song Of The Year -"Ring The Bell," The Gibson Brothers (Artists), Chet O'Keefe (Songwriter); Album Of The Year - Dailey & Vincent Sing The Statler Brothers; Dailey & Vincent (Artists and Producers); Cracker Barrel/Rounder; Recorded Event Of The Year - "Give This Message To Your Heart", Larry Stephenson featuring Dailey & Vincent (Artists), Ben Surratt & Larry Stephenson (Producers), Whysper Dream; Instrumental Recorded Performance Of The Year - "Durang's Hornpipe" By Adam Steffey (Artist), Barry Bales & Gary Paczosa (Producers); Gospel Recorded Performance Of The Year - "Ring The Bell", The Gibson Brothers (Artists & Producers), Chet O'Keefe (Songwriter), Compass Records; Emerging Artist Of The Year - Josh Williams Band; Instrumental Performers Of The Year: Banjo - Kristin Scott Benson;Bass - Marshall Wilborn; Fiddle - Michael Cleveland; Dobro - Rob Ickes; Guitar - Josh Williams; Mandolin - Adam Steffey; Bluegrass Broadcaster Of The Year - Kyle Cantrell; Sirius Xm Satellite Radio; Print Media Person Of The Year - Eddie Dean & Dr. Ralph Stanley, authors of Man Of Constant Sorrow: My Life And Times (Gotham Books); Best Liner Notes For A Recorded Project - Dr. Ted Olson (Writer), Appalachia Music From Home, Various Artists, Lonesome Records (Label); Best Graphic Design For A Recorded Project - Julie Craig, Cracker Barrel (Designer); Dailey & Vincent; Dailey & Vincent Sing The Statler Brothers; Cracker Barrel/Rounder (Label); and Bluegrass Event Of The Year Award - 14th Annual Podunk Bluegrass Music Festival; East Hartford, Ct.
The show also featured a performance honoring the tenth anniversary of the soundtrack of “O Brother Where Art Thou” featuring Alison Krauss leading out “Down to the River to Pray,” followed by “Keep on the Sunny Side” by The Whites. When Dan Tyminski and the rest of Union Station kicked into “Man of Constant Sorrow.”

What a great series of events and wonderful bluegrass memories!!!!!!


10/06/10

The cure

In the valley of the Gravelly Spur, the cold wind of winter would often bring a sickness which flowed from one house to another like rural free delivery.

During the Depression, folks in the valley had three places to turn for help — Dr. Thurmond, who would ride out from town and make the now almost extinct house call; Uncle Sam, the faith healing man; and Aunt Sally and her sure-fire elixir of health.

Aunt Sally was a wisp of a woman who lived at the head of Knobbely Cove back up above Devil Step Holler, a gentle curve that sat back up in the side of the Gravelly Spur. In her 80s in the 1930s, her long gray hair would blow in the winter wind across the same woolen green dress she always wore as she stood looking out from the cabin porch.

Since the time the first whites came to the area, long before there was a doctor, folks relied on the home remedies passed from generation to generation to ward off some of the worst ailments — things like sheep dung tea, and wormseed and other such remedies.
Sally was the local purveyor of a tried and true medication that was passed down from mother to daughter in her family.

There was hardly a family that did not have a bottle of the remedy, the “elixir of health” as she called it, tucked away somewhere in the house. The clear elixir was used for everything imaginable that could ail you. The ladies of the valley would often take it out, pour a bit in a pot, mix in a peppermint stick and give it to children to improve their cough or ease labored breathing.
Of course, most folks in the valley knew that the remedy was pure moonshine whiskey. I imagine that on occasion the adults sampled a bit of it “for medicinal purposes only.”

During Prohibition, city folks (a.k.a. revenuers) began combing the mountains looking for those who might be making illegal whiskey. The news of their arrival in the valley spread faster than scarlet fever.

As they visited house to house, no one knew of anyone making such a thing in the valley.

They even worked their way back up to Aunt Sally’s where she invited them up on the porch and served them hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick.
They declined her invite to “come on in,” saying, “We best be on our way.”

Had they entered in the back of the main room they would have seen the remedy machine, a large metal pot with all types of copper coils snaking around it.
Much later, a sharecropper named Tate took up the same hobby in his spare time. However, he did not create a medicine, but something simply for drinking purposes.

He hid his apparatus in Indian Cave. Before long, folks were driving into the valley and traipsing up to the old cave. He was doing so well that he was in the process of building a little dance floor in the cavern when the menfolk of the valley decided to put a stop to it.
They were afraid that Tate’s operations would bring back the revenuers and hurt Aunt Sally.

Rather than bring in Sheriff Hensley, folks there often would see to their own problems and, if needed, turn the folks over to the sheriff later.

The men folk destroyed Tate’s still and gave him a good “talking to.” There may have been a little more than talking, but in any event he went out of business.
One good thing came from it though; with just a little more work on the dance floor, the community acquired a new cool place at Indian Cave to hold socials when the summer heat became unbearable.

Aunt Sally kept making the remedy another 15 years until she passed away. In fact, a number of folks in the valley found that when gas was scarce during World War II, the remedy would work in a pinch. I don’t know if Aunt Sally passed on her remedy recipe, but as doctors and drugs for this and that became more readily available, there was not much need for her type of medicine.

Who knows, she might have sold her recipe to one of those big-time pharmaceutical companies.
I bet you’ll find a little bit of the remedy in almost every single cough medicine you pull off the shelf.

09/29/10

The faith of Palin
 
Bluegrass gospel music filled the Freedom Hall Expo Center in Louisville, Ky. for over two hours before the annual 2010 National Quartet Convention turned its focus on one of the leading political figures since 2008 – Former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin.
The former Republican candidate for United States vice president stood before thousands of gospel music fans and shared her personal thoughts about faith, family and our country.

While the event might be categorized by the mainstream media as an opportunity to encourage the faith-based voters to go to the polls this fall, it had more the feel of an old-time revival with the biggest stars of gospel music leading the songs and Gov. Palin serving up a plate full of family-centered faith for one of the biggest homecoming sings in the country.

She joked that she doesn’t usually subject her family or others to her singing voice but she did play the flute in the Assembly of God church quartet as a youth.
Commenting on the numerous artist buses at the event, she said that seeing America with her family from the window of a bus is fun.

“After the vice presidential run back in ‘08, I concluded the view is much better inside the bus than under the bus,” she said yielding a roar of laughter.
She encouraged the performers from the Bible saying: “You serve the Lord with gladness as you come before His presence with singing. As you do that, you have doors open for people to come to God.”

She shared that gospel music was an important foundation for her family. Palin said she grew up listening to gospel music and was influenced greatly by the music of artists like the Gaithers, who also appeared at the event that week.

She described how when she was 11 years old at summer camp, she stepped out into the
great outdoors and there she realized she was not alone in the world.
 
She said she remembered thinking “Lord, you made all of this. If you are this wise, this powerful, surely, there is purpose in everything, in everyone. Even a speck like me, surely, there is purpose and destiny for all. Otherwise, why would you have created all this? From that moment on, I put my life in God’s hands … it’s a sincere faith in Jesus Christ.”

I was personally strengthened to know that Gov. Palin turns to God in prayer even before the major events at which she appears asking Him to guide her.
“It seems when we are calm and we are still, that is when we will sense our purpose and our calling,” she said. “My faith has been a rock to me. Thankful in the good times that faith guides us.”
 
“It is in the challenging times that I have so relied on my faith,” she said. “So many times I have been drawn to my knees saying God you are all I got, bring me through this.”
 
She spoke proudly of her children and how God led their family through the past few years and the issues that they have faced.
 
Many people are worried about America’s challenges, she said.

In America, she said we need a clear vision and optimism to get through challenges we are facing.
“In times like these, when things seem insurmountable, we must proudly stand up and speak out for what we believe in, and not be ashamed of the gospel. Remind America that is what we need.”

While this comment brought attendees to their feet, another that also roused great response was that we are “United under God believing in that Hand of providence that has so blessed this country, that is why we are an exceptional nation and that is nothing to apologize for.”

One of my favorite lessons that she shared - “The Lord can take what seems to be life’s greatest challenges and turn them into life’s greatest blessings.”
That is a message that can strengthen each of us in times of trial.

09/22/10 

We don’t do that here anymore 

Have you ever taken your shoes to be worked on? Does anyone do that anymore? I remember when fixin’ shoes was cheaper than buyin’.

Of course, back then they were quality made and lasted a long time if cared for properly. I've been looking for a brand new pair of blacks and a brown for about a month now. Every where I look they are just not quite right. The pair I am trying to replace is about new but they are worn out with a few holes. I was looking at them and found that a percentage was made in one country – Mexico, another percentage in the European Union and then assembled in China.

I am sure the store that sold them made a profit, as did the various companies who manufactured the pieces. The sad part is after just a couple of years later and I am searching for a new pair. I still have shoes in my closet passed to me by my late father that were worn day after day for years and they are still as strong and shiny as they were when I was a child. I often wear them to dress events. Amazing how they have held up but of course, they were made entirely in the United States and whenever there was a problem, the shoes were taken to the shoe repair shop to strengthen them for a few more years of service.

I have always heard that the only way to avoid repeating the missteps of history is to know history and then use that knowledge to avoid the same fate.

If I understand one underlying reason that the South lost the Civil War, it is that the North held the best hand when it came to industry having a better ability to manufacture and keep manufacturing both the tools of war and those items needed on the home front.

Not having the same ability, the South was doomed to eventually simply run out of supplies.

I have many times heard my mother comment when the neighbors were selling scrap metal bound for Japan before WWII, that her father said that America would get all of it back one day.
 

It did beginning Dec. 7, 1941, with the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the subsequent battles.

I mention these two examples for two reasons.
 

Like those selling scrap iron, Americans have often looked to the best deal to make some extra money right now.

Thousands of American businesses benefit financially by sending jobs overseas or over the border, or simply purchasing items they need from foreign producers. I am sure that these decisions are making their bottoms lines more profitable.
 

Companies are not totally to blame. As consumers, we want the cheapest whether it comes from China, India or wherever rather than purchasing something that will keep an American on the job making something and keeping an American company afloat.
 

There was a time when almost every component of every item we had in our homes and businesses or used in everyday life was made here in the U.S.A. — every automobile, radio, television, fan, telephone, refrigerator, stove, iron, vacuum cleaner, etc.
 

Today you would be hard-pressed to find any of these which do not depend on a foreign-produced part to make them work. Of course, some of these manufacturing companies are American in origin but not in loyalty when they choose to build factories elsewhere, reducing America’s industrial might.
 

I understand that American manufacturing is to the point now that many elements needed to construct even some of our most sensitive military systems now must be manufactured overseas because no one does it here anymore.
 

That will be the mantra of America in the not so distant future; “No one does it here anymore.”

While this is not so far away, it is simple to see that we did not learn from history. America will one day soon be no longer able to make anything without the industrial machine and labor force of China and other countries.
 

Now instead of scrap metal, we are sending our cash, boatloads of cash each and every day that Americans flood the stores.
 

If for some reason America was cut off from the rest of the world, do we have the wherewithal to survive on our own anymore? Can we build or produce what we need for our population? It was not so long ago, just 40-50 years, that the answers to these questions were yes. I would say the answer now is no.
 

When our factories are dormant, our skilled workers gone from lack of jobs, America may go the way of the South or to paraphrase my grandfather before WWII, America is going to get all those great bargain buys and cheaper jobs thrown back in our faces.
 

Think about that the next time you go out to shop. Think about that the next time you talk with you senator or congressman. Think about that when you visit the polls this November. If we don’t wake up, my friends, we will all be sold down the river.

09/15/10

Southern gospel music and Dolly too.......

      Hearing good four-part harmony is something that has always made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Ever since the days when the sounds of "The Gospel Singing Jubilee" helped me energize sleep out of my pre-school eyes as we got ready to go to church, Southern gospel music has been part of my life.

     This time of year, as the temperature begins to lower, my excitement level goes up just like that little boy who ran in the living room to watch the Happy Goodmans, the Dixie Echoes and the Florida Boys with the guests in the Zenith black and white TV set. The source of my anticipation is the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony is close at hand at Dollywood. Added to the festivities this year is the Singing News Fan Awards. That alone will bring every major performing group in the industry to share a special day that honors legendary performers and recognizes those that are current and new.

     To put the icing on the cake, superstar Dolly Parton will be there to receive the prestigious 2010 James D. Vaughan "Impact Award."

Did I mention Dolly Parton was going to be there……?

    
Southern Gospel Music Association Executive Director Charlie Waller said that the award is presented to those whose careers make a significant impact on the Southern gospel music industry and expand the scope of the music. 
 

     “Dolly Parton is the most honored female country performer of all time," he said. "Her efforts on behalf of our music at Dollywood have been instrumental in the establishment of our museum and hall of fame as well as providing a home for many of our artists to share their talents on the stages at Dollywood in front of millions of people."  

     He added that the Country Music Hall of Fame member has encouraged tremendous opportunities for the exposure of Southern gospel music on television, recordings, and in live performance venues throughout her career.

     Past Vaughan Award recipients include: Bill Gaither, James Blackwood, Les Beasley, Bob Brumley, Mosie Lister, Paul Heil, Eva Mae LeFevre, J.G. Whitfield, Lari Goss and Barbara Mandrell.

     Parton and other stars will walk the red carpet to accept their honors on Sept. 29, 2010 at the Southern Gospel Music Association (SGMA) Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony and Singing News Fan Awards. The event is at DP's Celebrity Theatre inside Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tenn.

     Tickets are $70, which includes admission to Dollywood, free parking, lunch, and reserved seating for the Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony/Singing News Fan Awards. Dollywood will be open and all shows, rides and shops will be operating.
 

     DP’s Celebrity Theatre will host the annual celebration of inductees to the Hall of Fame at 3 p.m. honoring, “Little” Jan Buckner-Goff, Danny Gaither, Sam Goodman, Bill Hefner, Connie Hopper and Arthur Smith.  Performers scheduled to appear are Booth Brothers, Brian Free & Assurance, Greater Vision, Inspirations, Karen Peck & New River, Kingdom Heirs, Legacy Five, Perrys, Triumphant Quartet, and the Whisnants.

     Groups performing in venues throughout the park during the day include: Kingdom Heirs, Florida Boys, Booth Brothers, Triumphant Quartet, Dove Brothers Quartet, Chuck Wagon Gang, Diplomats, Southern Sound Quartet, Tribute Quartet and the LeFevre Quartet. SGMA Hall of Fame members planning to attend include Bill and Gloria Gaither, Les Beasley, Jerry Goff, Jack Pittman, Bill Shaw, Eddie Wallace, Charlie Waller, Don Light, Lou Hildreth, Derrell Stewart, "Lady" Mull and Ed Hill.  Other guests include Guy Penrod, Jason Crabb, Ronnie Hinson, Gerald Crabb and "Little" Willie Wynn.

     Dinner includes baked chicken, pulled barbecue pork sandwiches, all beef hot dogs with chili, cole slaw, corn on the cob, baked beans, roasted skillet potatoes, banana pudding, unlimited Coca-Cola products or Gold Peak tea.

     “I encourage each of you to be in attendance for this historical event in gospel music,” Waller said.  “Come visit us in the Great Smoky Mountains and be at Dollywood on Sept. 29th.”

     Tickets must be purchased in advance by calling the SGMA office (865) 908-4040 to attend SGMA Induction Ceremony/Singing News Fan Awards in the DP’s Celebrity Theatre.

     Proceeds from the event benefit the Southern Gospel Music Association. The Southern Gospel Music Association is a non-profit organization that maintains the Southern Gospel Museum and Hall of Fame, the only facility honoring this genre of music, for the historic preservation of the accomplishments of the music and its people. Museum hours match those of Dollywood. Donations are tax-deductible. Individuals and businesses may donate to assist with honoring inductees with special bronze plaques that are displayed in the Hall of Fame. For more information about the museum or its inductees, visit www.sgma.org.

     Friends, if you are a fan of Southern gospel music, this is an event to remember and well worth the trip no matter where you live. I spoke with the SGMA office just before writing this column and there are a limited number of tickets still available but the deadline is close at hand, so call and reserve your chance to enjoy this wonderful day.

09/08/10

Colorful roots

This week I just returned from my family reunion. Our 23rd since the passing of my father Floyd Franks. He loved to spend time with his family. That joy he passed to me as a child in a desire to know more about our history. As I began my search for ancestors, I never knew what wonders the stories would open to me. Seeing history come to life through people to which I am related helped to make historical events more than just words upon a page.

I am sure that some of the tales have grown with time and the accuracy of some would not hold up in a court of law, but for a 10-year-old and avid history buff, reading about an uncle who traveled with the Lewis and Clarke expedition or discovering a long lost branch of the family that no one knew existed gave me such a thrill.

My search carried me to homes where members of my family have lived since the country was founded. I have stood with a musket in hand on the battlements where my ancestors staved off the Cherokees when the United States was still British colonies. I have touched the soil that once ran red with their blood as they fell fighting the red coats and indians.

Among the lineage I have come to know presidential candidates, congressmen, governors, state legislators, sheriffs, soldiers, cowboys, farmers, businessmen, lawyers, educators, preachers, moonshiners, outlaws and even royalty who left their titles behind to become part of the American experience.

With each turn of the page through another generation, my search became more fascinating.

A distant cousin enlightened me to an aspect of our family I never knew about how some of our ancestors from Portugal came to the Americas even before the Pilgrims settled in eastern North Carolina in the late 1500s. Their settlements were destroyed at some point, and survivors intermarried with Native American tribes and eventually migrated to the mountainous areas in western North Carolina and Southern Virginia, remaining together as a tribe. These folks became known as the Melungeons.

What young boy does the tales of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett not fascinate? To find a link to one of these larger than life frontier men was a delight to me. One of my ancestors apparently was the mortal enemy of Daniel Boone. While that may seem a weak link, it only says to me that at some point in their lives these men were on opposite sides of a fight. Two other ancestors served Boone as scouts on the frontier of Kentucky and Tennessee.

I am told one of my Confederate ancestors, Robert Shields, came to the fight when he was already in his 50s. He left behind a wife and 13 children, some of who were already grown and had families of their own.
Shields was captured and sent to prison in Rock Island, Ill. Upon returning, he discovered that his death had been reported to his family earlier in the war.

His wife had re-married and re-settled in Alabama with a new husband. He then went in search of his wife. Only the wind now knows what transpired when he found her, but following the meeting, Robert returned to Georgia and started over. He married again. His second wife also gave him 13 children. He became a minister and started a church where he and his wives now rest.

Yes, both wives. After the death of his first wife’s second husband, he brought her home and built a place for her. He looked after her until his death.
I stood at the foot of their graves only wishing I could hear the real story told.

Once our loved ones are gone, however, we are left with only the paper trail and some remnants of memories in the wind. One of my quests of finding the graves of my great, great grandparents William and Sarah Bandy may never be realized, because too many years have passed for anyone to recall their unmarked graves in the cemetery.

While history is a wonderful place to spend time seeing the colors that make up your family tree, if you would like to know the story of your family, start with those around you. Don’t forget that those stories that are right at your fingertips will one day be history, too.

You might just wish you had written them down. Relish the people in your family. Thousands of stories and lives have been lived, so you have your chance at serving your generation. Honor them…

09/01/10

Grand Ole Opry star Jesse McReynolds urges America to unite
 
I have heard Jesse McReynolds called the iron man of bluegrass. He is certainly one of the strongest and most innovative musical talents that I have ever known.

From the first time as a youth that I looked up on the stage of the Lavonia Bluegrass Festival at he and his late brother Jim, I knew that they were the most polished musical act I had seen.

Jesse’s musical talents were at the core of that polish and today at 81, he is still creating and working to find new ways to reach audiences that may be unaware of the body of work that brought him to the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame.

But he is the first to say his latest venture is more an attempt to leave a legacy of encouragement to his fellow Americans.

Throughout his career he has shared his love of the United States of America and his home state of Virginia through live performances, numerous recordings and through his own military service.

McReynolds said with the trends he has seen in America over the last few months, he was led to write an anthem from his heart that reflects the feeling he wanted to share with his fellow Americans.

What happens when you bring together a Bluegrass Hall of Famer Jesse McReynolds (www.jimandjesse.com), Grand Ole Opry star John Conlee (www.johnconlee.com), Country Music Hall of Famer Jimmy Fortune of The Statler Brothers (www.JimmyFortune.com), Gospel Music Hall of Famer Duane Allen of the Oak Ridge Boys (www.oakridgeboys.com), and some of Nashville’s hottest pickers?

Jesse’s anthem for Americans - “United We Stand”

“I love this country. I served in Korea. There is hardly a town across this great nation that my music has not taken me,” McReynolds said. “I’ve come to know its people and the strength we have when we work together. We are Americans, citizens of the United States of America; our future depends upon us pulling together. I have the faith that if we do, we can turn this country towards a positive future – ‘United We Stand – Divided We Fall.’”

The Grand Ole Opry star, who is known as an American master of the mandolin, wrote the song and created two versions welcoming Charlie Cushman on banjo, Steve Thomas on fiddle and guitar; Kevin Grant on bass for the bluegrass version.

For the country version, he welcomed even more stars including RFD-TV’s Marty Stuart (www.martystuart.net) playing guitar and Grand Ole Opry star Buck White of the Whites (skaggsfamilyrecords.com/) playing piano; Steve Thomas on guitar; Kevin Grant on bass; Chris Wood on drums; and Tommy White on steel guitar.

J&J Music released the new single in association with Crimson Records to over 1,500 radio stations featuring country, bluegrass, gospel and folk music.

"I hope that fans of my music will call in and request it," McReynolds said. "But more than that, I hope that all those who love this great country will take this song to heart and unite for the future of America."
United We Stand is available for digital download at itunes, Amazon.com and more information can be found at www.jimandjesse.com.

Jesse is not letting any grass grow under his feet since coming Oct. 5, musically he will push the lines of bluegrass again as Woodstock Records releases Jesse McReynolds & Friends with David Nelson & Stu Allen, Songs Of The Grateful Dead: A Tribute to Jerry Garcia & Robert Hunter.




08/25/10

Rufus A. Doolittle

One of the more interesting characters I have met in my life is my second cousin twice-removed Rufus A. Doolittle.

No matter how many times the family removed him he just kept coming back.

If you meet Rufus on the street, he will always have on his old blue Bibb overalls covering nearly 300 pounds of his favorite dishes.

He always said he was built more for comfort than for speed.

He wears an old brown leather hat held together by every kind of pin and wire known to man, which barely covers his head.

Now, Rufus was the type of person who would find salt interesting. I mean, if you and he sat down in a restaurant while waiting on your food, Rufus would pick up the salt shaker, pour some in the palm of his hand and proceed to be amazed.

He is one of the only people in my life that I ever saw stop to get something to eat on the way to a restaurant.

I guess he just could not pass up that chicken going round and round on the rotisserie at that gas station. It was sort of like a ride at the fair. You know you should not get on it but you just can’t help yourself.

Rufus spent most of his life as a mechanic and he was blessed with the ability to take apart and put together a car in nothing flat.

The only problem was, like so many other people, he would often start one project without finishing another. He had a habit of just piling all the parts he removed up in one big pile in the middle of the garage floor. I don’t know how he ever found anything.

I was amazed at how he could reach in and pick out just the right part from the pile to replace it in a particular car.

At least I hope he was able to do that, or there are a lot of Fords and Chevrolets and a Volkswagen or two running around with the wrong pieces inside.

Rufus always had an abundance of cars awaiting service as he called it. They were up on blocks in the yard around his house. He referred to them as wealth waiting to happen. Many of them, the owners had given up on long ago but Rufus just could not let them breath their last breath, so he would tinker on them until they would cough and sputter their way through town yet again.

Whenever he found himself needing to take a ride, he would just jump in whatever car was running.

I once asked him how he kept up with all of the license fees on all these cars.

He told me it was simple: he moved the tag to whichever car happened to be running.

Rufus married young to another one of my cousins. Of course, they weren’t related but their kids are.

Madeleen is one of the finest women to ever walk the earth; I have never seen anyone who could swing a baseball bat quite like her.

Rufus has got pretty good at ducking over the years, too.

One time Madeleen and Rufus decided to take a vacation. They had it all figured out because they had gotten an invite to one of those all-inclusive resorts where they make you sit through the sales pitch.

Madeleen decided to make it worth their while. While they were getting a sales pitch from the resort, she would give a sales pitch on her Busy Bee cosmetics that she makes herself at home to the salesperson.

She truly believes in the value of her full line of soaps, powders and make up.

Rufus is living proof that the stuff makes you look better.

After using the soap, his skin tightened up making him look ten years younger. He got a bright red glow in his cheeks.

Of course after they pulled all the stingers out he deflated a bit and the red glow went away after about a week, but for a day or two there he looked like he was ten years younger, bigger but younger.

While most folks have to sit through a long drawn out sales pitch, once Madeleen got up, threw a barber’s cloth around the sales person’s neck and began to rub on her facial crème. That was all she wrote.

That salesman was so enthralled over the facial, he stopped the presentation right then and there and showed Rufus and Madeleen the door.

They didn’t have to hear another word from him the whole weekend. Of course, the last time they saw the salesman he did look ten years younger.

08/18/10

Stringbean, close to our hearts

When I was growing up one of my favorite TV shows was “Hee-Haw.” I remember Saturday nights from seven to eight, sitting and rolling in the floor with laughter to the antics of Junior Samples, Lulu Roman, Grandpa Jones, Archie Campbell, Sheb Wooley and all the rest.

One of the stars that I always enjoyed seeing was David “Stringbean” Akeman. He played the scarecrow in the Korn field with a crow sitting upon his shoulder. I remember one of his routines where he sat and read funny letters from home to other cast members, doing his bit where “I have it close to my heart, my heart, heart” while searching every pocket in his overalls to find it while repeating the word ‘Heart’ over and over again.

I often use some of his techniques I saw him do in my own comedy routines.

But of all his comedic antics and his tall tales, I really enjoyed his old time banjo performances. He did many of the standards like “Good Ole Mountain Dew” and “Here Rattler Here” and his more unusual hit “Chewing Gum.”

Stringbean got his start working with Charlie Monroe in Louisville, Kentucky, a time when Ramblin’ Tommy Scott and Curly Seckler worked with Charlie. On the side, he operated a little refueling station.

Stringbean eventually moved to Nashville and became part of Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys. He was Bill’s first banjo player using his two finger and clawhammer style. After leaving Monroe he struck out in a comedy duo with Lew Childre and then totally on his own. Eventually he was the most recognized star of the NBC Grand Ole Opry Prince Albert Show. At the height of his popularity at the Opry he made a bold move leaving the Opry for a year and a half to tour with the Tommy Scott Show across the U.S. and Canada.

After enjoying that time on the road he returned to the Opry where he stayed the rest of his life touring and sharing his unique flair with audiences. He and his wife Estelle despite their wealth lived a meager existence in a small farmhouse outside Nashville. Meals often consisted of pinto beans, cornbread or a cornmeal mush and whatever String might have bagged that day when he went hunting or fishing, pastimes that he enjoyed as much as being on stage.

By the time producers selected Stringbean’s part of the country version of “Laugh-In” in 1969, he had already been a star attraction at the Opry for about two decades.

In his long plaid shirt, and his britches that came up somewhere just above his knees and his funny hat, he created a character that endeared itself to the American people. By the time "Hee-Haw" came along he like so many others of his generation were in what some might consider the waning years of their career, but "Hee-Haw" gave them new life and a new audience 40 million strong.

It made the entire cast household names and faces in cities across the country and demand for personal appearances in the off-season from the show soared.

It has been 37 years since Stringbean and his lovely wife Estelle lost their lives in a double murder that rocked Nashville. On his latest CD, my friend Sam Bush sings a recently composed song reflecting loosely back on the day that String and Estelle were killed entitled “The Ballad of Stringbean and Estelle.” Find out more about that by visiting http://www.sambush.com/. On that sad day, two men were robbing their home. The couple returned early from an Opry performance because Stringbean was able to perform earlier than originally scheduled. When the couple arrived they surprised the robbers who shot and killed them both. Friend and neighbor Grandpa Jones discovered them the next day.

Despite my young age, I remember the sadness I shared in hearing of this tragedy.

In the years to come I met and worked with many that were close to Stringbean, his agent Joe Taylor, Grandpa Jones, Tommy Scott and others. Even a decade ago the murders still loomed as a topic of conversation. A few years back I remember when some construction workers found a rather large sum of money hidden away in the couple’s humble house left from his many years of performing.

Stringbean didn’t like banks. From the stories I have heard of his desire to amass $1 million in cash as a primary goal in his life, I believe somewhere, someday, someone else will find more of String’s savings.

He was honored in 1995 with the unveiling of a life size bronze statue in his home of Jackson County, Kentucky. Porter Wagoner and Tommy Scott did the unveiling. He is remembered each June with the Stringbean Memorial Bluegrass Festival in Tyner, Ky. For more information about next year’s event, visit http://www.stringbeanpark.com/.

Now that "Hee-Haw" is found as a classic television DVD collection (http://www.heehaw.com/) and in reruns on RFD-TV (Sundays at 8 p.m. E.S.T.), his music and comedy is accessible to those who wish to see him. But I think it is such a tragedy that those who have come into this world since 1973 did not have a chance to see in person this wonderfully talented performer. I do thank those who reflect on and carry on in his memory from the bottom of my "heart, heart ... heart."

08/11/10

“M.A.S.H.” memories
 
When considering the monumental shows of television, one of these would have to be the series “M.A.S.H.” starring Alan Alda and a cast of hilarious character actors who seem to face an endless stream of war-time horrors with levity and courage.

I remember sitting with 130 million other Americans on February 28, 1983 as the cast said their final good-byes as the war came to an end. It was television’s most watched show in history, according to the Neilsen ratings.

“‘Hawkeye’ Pierce,” Alda’s character, and “B.J. Honeycutt,” played by Mike Farrell could not seem to get together to say goodbye. Honeycutt just could not say the words. As the helicopter took off and in stones upon the ground B.J. wrote the word “Goodbye.” I remember welling up as if I had just lost my best friend. In many ways, I had.

When the show started I was too young to watch but my parents enjoyed watching the show so, from time to time, I got to see it.

As I reached high school, I had grown up enough to watch the show regularly, and it became a regular Monday night ritual.

The characters in a way worked themselves into my life. I was vested in what happened to them.

Thanks to “M.A.S.H.,” for a generation of military, Korea was no longer in the past; a new story came into homes every Monday night.

People were amazed at the staying power of the series that went on for over 10 years — seven years longer than the war itself. As cast members moved stateside, such as “Cpl. ‘Radar’ O'Reilly,” played by Gary Burghoff, or to the great reward, such as McLean Stevenson's character “Lt. Col. Henry Blake,” who died on his way home when his transport crashed into the sea, the war machine just kept on going, much as it did in real life.
Someone else filled his or her shoes and the story went on.
Even after the war ended, the comedy series “AfterM.A.S.H.” followed several characters home.

I have had the distinct pleasure to work with several of the people who made the show a success.

One of these began his acting career at age nine. Gene Reynolds appeared in a string of films from 1934-56. He also made numerous television appearances. In the 1950s, he shifted his attention to directing and, later, producing.
Reynolds was one of the masterminds behind the “M.A.S.H.” phenomenon, acting as an executive producer, writing, and directing several episodes. He also was one of the creators of “Lou Grant.”

I worked with Reynolds as he came to direct an episode of “In the Heat of the Night” entitled “First Girl.” It was in this episode that the Sparta Police Department received its first woman officer. She unfortunately lost her life in a shootout but was quickly replaced in the same episode by Crystal Fox who played “Luann Corbin” throughout the rest of the show.

After attending an Atlanta Falcons football game with fellow cast and crew members, assistant director Paul Chavez, script supervisor Jill Freeman, and I visited with Reynolds at his condo and had the opportunity to hear a few of his stories from his long career. Throughout my time with him working behind the scenes on that episode, I found him a creative, enthusiastic director.

I could easily see why “M.A.S.H.” was such a success.
We were also blessed to have Allan Arbus, psychiatrist “Dr. Sidney Freedman” to guest star as “Dr. Atwill” in a couple of episodes on our show.

In March 1996, while working with Alan Autry on the set of “Grace Under Fire,” I had the pleasure of meeting another “M.A.S.H.” alumnus, that great ball of fire known as “Col. Sherman Potter” — Harry Morgan. Yet another TV veteran with some 50 years on the screen playing roles such as “Officer Bill Gannon” on “Dragnet.”

Morgan played “George,” a beau to “Grandma Jean,” portrayed by Peggy Rhea. Getting to see this legend work up close was a treat. The audience welcomed him warmly, and each of his lines reflected flawless comedic timing.
I only shook hands with him in passing as Alan Autry introduced us outside the studio following the evening’s filming. In that brief moment, however, I did get to tell him how much his performances on “M.A.S.H.” brought laughter into my life. The meeting was even more poignant for me because only a few weeks before, his much younger predecessor on the show, Stevenson, had passed away suddenly. I remember I was driving my truck down Hollywood Blvd. when I heard the news of his passing over the radio.

Another small connection to the series that I have is Tony Packo’s Café, a restaurant in Toledo, Oh. The restaurant started in 1932, and received extra attention when Jamie Farr’s “Klinger” character placed it on the “M.A.S.H” roadmap.

Before that, however, they began collecting signatures of celebrities on small artificial Packo’s buns for display. The first on a real bun was Burt Reynolds. I am honored to be one of those who has signed a Packo’s bun and now have a place in Toledo history and, in a way, another connection to “M.A.S.H.”

I was also honored recently when Alan Alda and Allan Arbus helped me with my latest cookbook “Stirring Up Additional Success with a Southern Flavor” sharing their favorite recipes to help raise funds for our literacy program in my hometown. It is available on our Randall Franks Store page with PayPal.

If you have never watched the show and are looking for a change from reality television, I encourage you to catch a rerun of “M.A.S.H.” on TV Land.

I caution you, there is some adult humor and situations. How else could they depict war without some things that children should not see? Considering what networks are putting on the tube today in most teen-age shows, what was pushing the envelope a bit in the 70s is tame today.
While that does not say much for today’s shows, “M.A.S.H.” came along at a time when producers still respected the audience and tried to develop a show that the family could watch.

Although at times there were themes or stories viewers may not wish to share with younger family members, it was the vast number of characters and their stories that truly brought the viewer back to watch each week. 

08/04/10

Lifting the burdens of others

Have you ever known need? Have you ever been hungry and not known where your next meal is coming from? While I have been blessed not to know this sense of desperation, I have seen the face of despair in many and heard stories of desperation from years past.

I was recently standing at a gasoline pump filling my tank. When a car pulled in next to me. After hearing the engine, I immediately thought, they are lucky to be going anywhere.

In just a matter of minutes the man had stuck his head around the pump and passing the time of day. He shared the family’s story with me and I listened as I pumped.

I realized as the conversation progressed that it was apparent as I looked into his face that they were in real need.

Some years ago, I remember performing out in Texas with the gospel group, The Marksmen. We had had a long trip and the old bus was traveling rough.

As we drove through the areas of Louisiana and Texas that were deeply tied to the oil industry, you could see the shadow of doubt that covered the faces of the people. The bottom had fallen out and many could no longer afford to even pump the crude that supported their way of life. Families were hurting.

We pulled up to a little church out in the middle of a farm area somewhere between Dallas and Houston. The little church probably held 100 on its best day.

When we arrived some men from the church cheerfully assisted Keith Chambers, Rob Gillentine and Earle Wheeler with some repairs on the bus.

In spite of the depressed economy we had seen as we stopped along our trip, this little church seemed to be an island. The women of the church soon arrived; gleefully putting together a Texas spread fit for Sam Houston, filled with fried chicken, corn on the cob and green beans with a side of fatback. They went out of their way to make us weary travelers feel at home as we scurried around setting up the sound equipment and record table.

As we watched the congregation trickle in that evening to reach around 60 folks or so, I thought that was a long way to go to sing to such a small group of people. Before we even stepped up on the pulpit, you could feel the spirit of God filling the room. The church came alive with rejoicing; those whose faces came in laden with heavy burdens seemed to smooth as their concerns were lifted, if only momentarily.

After the singing and the eating were over, the bus was running again, loaded and we were once again on the road. Down the road a ways, it was customary to check over the offering and sales figures. None of us could believe what the count yielded. The amount given and bought by that little congregation exceeded that of some of the largest churches I have ever been in. I know some of those folks probably needed the money more than we did but they gave anyway.

I was blessed in their spirit and their faith.

Sometimes even when we find ourselves in despair, giving and helping others can lift us from those depths.

Have you ever met someone when you asked, how they are, they really tell you?

After several minutes of sharing their problems, I imagine it makes them feel better. Or does it? Do they go to the next person and share the same afflictions?

If we only remember that each time we see someone, it is the opportunity to share joy and happiness. Everyone has problems. If we can only lift each other’s load for just a moment by sharing happiness, much like these folks at that little church did for us through their spirit of love in the face of hard times. We came to brighten their lives through the message of God’s love through music. After seeing such despair along the road, it turned out they were the ones who brightened mine.

Did you uplift or help someone today? 

07/28/10

A fiddle and a fireplace

Some say it was a coal mine cave-in. Others say it was the fever, but whatever the reason my Grandpa Harve found himself orphaned in a time when if children were lucky some relative or caring neighbor took them in.

I don’t know much about his childhood, although I am told his tales of life on the Tennessee River rivaled those of Mark Twain’s “Huckleberry Finn.”

When my dad was a boy, Harve gathered the children around the fireplace and before bed told a story of an orphaned boy named A.J. (his real initials), filled with intrigue of riverboat gamblers and the dangers of riding the rapids on a handmade raft.

By this point in his life Grandpa Harve had become what my late cousin, Reece Franks, called demanding. Of course, Reece often found himself out tending to his horse and buggy after he came in from a visit to the general store where he sat and reminisced with his friends.

For some reason, as Harve became a man the waters of time brought him to Catoosa County where he courted a young girl named Emily Jane Bandy.

Already a talent at the fiddle, he brought the fiddle along while he courted. Although I think Grandma Emmer often thought he spent more time a fiddlin’ than he did a courtin’.

He eventually won her heart and the couple settled into a life of farming and raising children.

The love of music was something he shared with several of his children, teaching the fiddle to his son Tom. Henry took up the banjo, Ethel learned the piano, Jesse played along on the harmonica and the juice harp, while another one of the boys took up guitar.

As the sun lowered itself behind the hills, the clan would often gather in the parlor after supper and play a few tunes like “Turkey in the Straw,” “Leather Britches,” and “Camptown Races.”

Lester and Griff would roll back the rug and, although she’d probably not admit it the next Sunday at the Baptist church, Emmer and Harve danced a jig or two.
Harve had already passed his love of music along when a farming accident injured his left hand, making him unable to play anymore. That was probably one thing that pained him deep within his soul.

Henry’s death would eventually take the strains of the frailing banjo from the group, and as the family grew and the boys and girls married they took their music with them.
As the grandchildren came buzzing around, I know he would have given anything to pick up his old black fiddle and play them a tune but instead Harve entertained them with his stories of a youth making his way into adulthood in the reconstruction-era South.

I wish some of them had written the stories down but, alas, they are lost with time and even the memories that they ever existed are about gone.

It was from my great-uncle Tom, who made his life in Gordon County’s Sugar Valley, that I first heard someone play the fiddle close-up. He played some of the same licks that his father played before him.

While Grandpa Harve was not there, I could imagine him sitting at the fireplace, his old black fiddle in hand, playing with all his great-grandchildren gathered around him.
While many gather their earthly musical inspiration from the pop icons of this era that parade across the Grammy Award stage, I still draw my strength from family musical roots that run deep into the Appalachian soil.

Now we gather around computers, televisions and many other means to find our entertainment.

So many of us have lost something through the coming of so many choices - the ability to entertain ourselves by playing music with each other, sharing stories, telling jokes, and giving the next generation shoulders of those behind us to stand upon.

Without those connections often given in the experience of sharing life from one generation to the next, it is easy to see how so many folks waver in with little meaning or purpose to daily activities or lifetime goals.

Hundreds sweated, toiled, lived, fought, birthed, struggled, flourished, suffered, smiled and hoped so that we could walk after them and hopefully have a better life and make a difference for the family, the faith, the country or even mankind.

How much of a difference each day means that we are given when put into that prospective.

I encourage you to build upon the gifts you were given, make a difference in the lives of those you love and those you don’t even know.


07/21/10

Doing nothing is an action, too 

I was out watering the yard a while back when a blonde headed boy rolled up on his blue mountain bike and asked if we needed our yard mowed.
Our yard had just been covered with a brand new batch of fescue sod.

I told the boy it was not ready to cut just yet but he could check back in a few weeks.
He reminded me of myself at his age, trying to find every odd job I could.

Summer should be a time of wonder.
I remember fondly my childhood summers — endless hours of play after completing my chores around the house. Of course, as I got older, I took on odd jobs like mowing neighbors’ yards to earn a little money.
In my neighborhood, we had a great group of children. We all would gather to play and race our bikes down suicide hill.

I’ve had two bikes in my life; my first bike was small and green and well suited me. When I got big enough to earn my own money, I did odd jobs to earn enough money to buy a 3-speed red English racer. Buying that bike meant a lot to me.

On one of our trips down suicide hill, the new racer decided it wanted to go one-way and me another. The accident sent me flying through the handlebars and sliding down the pavement for 20 feet or more. That still hurts just thinking about it. I had sores all over me from that adventure.

My friends and I would get in our share of disagreements with each other. Those would lead usually to some hurt feelings and some rolling around on the ground till someone would say “Uncle.” We always seemed to come through it. There really were no children who caused trouble in my age bracket. A few older ones sometimes got into mischief, but we always managed to keep out of trouble.

Do not get me wrong there were bullies. We were just blessed not to have them on our street, at least for very long. I remember when I was about seven there were two brothers who took great pleasure in picking fights with me. At least, it seemed that way at the time.

A boy my age named Chris Sands moved in. His parents had just divorced, and at that time it was not as usual as it is now. I’ll never forget one meeting with those brothers that had me at the bottom of a wrestling match that I just could not win. Chris was the new guy in the neighborhood, and saw that I was being unfairly targeted for this fight and stepped in to pull the other boys off me. From that moment on, he was my friend — that is until he later moved away, and I lost track of him.

While time has erased many of the memories of the time we spent together hanging out as kids, that one action by the new boy on the block sticks in my mind. He saw something that was not right, and he did something about it. Not knowing the social lay of the land and the dynamics of the neighborhood hierarchy, he stuck his neck out for me. That is bravery.

Now I’m not advocating fighting as a way to resolve issues for children or adults. I was taught that it takes much more courage to walk away than to actually fight. However, when they jump on you, there are just a few hurdles you have to get over before you can walk away.
It is hard to walk away when you are at the bottom of the pile.

I learned a valuable lesson from Chris that day.
Folks often do not like to stick their neck out to help other people, but when someone does, it makes our community a better place.


07/14/10

Bluegrass music legacies

America’s music – bluegrass continues to grow in its popularity with new generations picking up the mantle of decades of evolution of the music that grew from the Appalachian sounds that gave it birth.

There are over 80 million listeners of bluegrass in the United States with millions more around the world, there are over 1,000 active bands, nearly 800 radio stations, and close to 200 associations.

The custodian of the industry’s heritage and those charged with honoring the legacies of its pioneers is the International Bluegrass Music Museum in Owensboro, Ky.
I first appeared in Owensboro in 1988 at a Legends concert and then as a presenter on the IBMA Awards in 1992.
I recently returned specifically for the museum and its annual ROMP Festival as it hosted its Pioneers of Bluegrass Gathering.

They welcomed many legends and over 30 of Bill Monroe’s Blue Grass Boys. It was an honor to attend and appear with my fellow band mates from throughout Monroe’s long career.

For those of you unfamiliar with Monroe, he is probably the only American music master inducted in the Country Music, Rock and Roll, Nashville Songwriter’s and Bluegrass Music halls of fame. Many attribute him as “the Father of Bluegrass.” I was honored that he included me as a youth in his band allowing me to play both fiddle and bass.

Mr. Monroe honored me by investing his time and creative energies in making me a better musician and performer. Through each opportunity I enjoy in my career, his lessons in life are with me.

During the gathering, the museum collected interviews and performances from all of us for an upcoming documentary project expected for release during the Monroe Centennial Celebration in 2011. This included segments filmed in Rosine, Ky. at the Monroe Home Place and at the cemetery. Some imprompti jamming from the event can be found in the Youtube video above that was also among the documentary taping.

Grand Ole Opry stars the Whites, Curly Seckler, Doc Watson and David Holt were among the performers sharing their talents to honor the pioneers.

Some among the pioneers “Doc” Tommy Scott, Fletcher Bright, Pete Kuykendall, Eddie Adcock, and Bill Clifton.
This was my first time to walk through the museum and especially the Hall of Fame spending some time looking closely at the bronze plaques honoring those our industry considers to be its most esteemed.

As I read each plaque, I felt as if I was visiting with old friends, they inspired me with their music, they gave me the hopes I could follow in their footsteps and in many cases they placed their faith in me to be part of their career.

As I walked through I thought about how God had blessed me to have the opportunity to know and learn from so many of them.

Of the 33 IBMA Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductees, I served as music producer to nine; recorded with nine; appeared as a band member for three; starred with four performing behind me on my stage show; performed as a guest star with two; produced bluegrass events featuring four; administrated musical licensing and publishing for five; directed a PBS documentary including four, provided media relations for two; interviewed and/or featured as an award-winning print media journalist and radio host the work of 24 while also writing for one.

God blessed me to walk beside so many of these who gave the world a new musical style and industry to support it. Many of their legacies are now cast in wax, bronze, musical notes, words and in many cases granite headstones.

I pray in the opportunities I have ahead, I live up to the faith they placed in me and continue to earn the most recent honor given as a Pioneer of Bluegrass. I urge you, if you have never visited the International Bluegrass Music Museum in Owensboro, be sure to http://www.bluegrass-museum.org.

You can also make a big difference by making a tax-deductible donation to the museum as well. While in the area visit the sites at Rosine, Ky. including the Monroe Home Place. Try to visit when the music is being performed for you to enjoy and I am sure it will an experience to remember.

07/07/10

My Own Chicken

When I was just a little boy on the farm, I spent much of my time fascinated by the baby animals — a young colt, a calf, baby chicks and ducklings.

When I was big enough, my grandmother said it was time I had my very own chicken.

Since becoming an adult, I have learned to appreciate the importance of chicken — fried chicken, baked chicken, chicken fricassee or chicken casserole. While traveling as a singer from church to church, you can’t help but become accustomed to it.  Everywhere you go some nice lady always comes with a great big platter of Southern fried chicken for you to eat.

But as a child, I had not really connected the fact that little baby chicks grow up to be dinner.

Since we lived in the suburbs of Atlanta, Grandma said when I was ready she would give me three eggs and hopefully one would hatch.

To get ready, we had to order an incubator by mail to replace the warmth of the hen. The little yellow hatchery looked like a small spaceship.

After getting set up, Grandma picked out three eggs for me on our next trip to the farm. I remember coming in each day and gently turning the eggs so they would be heated evenly on both sides from the bulb in the bottom.

I watched those little eggs patiently, knowing that one day soon I would have my very own baby chick.

After a while, two of the three eggs decided it was time to get out of that spaceship and began to break through the egg.

I will never forget my excitement as each little yellow being came into a new world. Of course, for me it was hard to tell what they were going to be when they grew up. With the names I gave them, “Roscoe” and “King,” it worked out well since they both turned out to be roosters.
I did my best with the help of my folks to nurse those little chicks into adulthood.

They stayed in a little box in the kitchen and were fed and watered until they got big enough to go outside.

In our back yard, they made friends with my dog “Track,” and the trio had a fine old time running about. Of course, I think Track had more fun than Roscoe and King. He always seemed to be doing the chasing.

I am sure the neighbors were not overjoyed by the addition of the chickens to our subdivision, but as long as they were quiet, the chickens were welcome.

As roosters will, eventually they began to raise the sun with their crowing.

While we never had any complaints, I know the neighbors would eventually tire from their early morning alarms. So, Roscoe and King got to go on a trip to Grandma’s farm.
It was tough to let them go, but I did, and they seemed much happier running around the barn yard with all the other chickens.

I did get to visit them from time to time. Of course, I also received some ribbing from my aunt Bessie in letters at how good they were the previous Sunday at dinner.
It was much later when my mother and her friends decided that they would cut some corners and save money on the food budget.

They decided to buy a bunch of chickens for a dime a piece, kill and clean them and put them in the freezer so we would have plenty to eat. As a little kid, I watched all the hard work the ladies put into this process. I watched as the chickens did their dance as they lost their heads. After seeing the little critters running around the yard, I just did not have the heart to eat a one of them. I guess I just pictured them as being Roscoe and King.

The experience taught me a tremendous amount about the responsibility of taking care of little ones. Perhaps the same is true of people.

Wouldn’t it be a nice world if everyone realized the importance of providing constant care and guidance to their little ones until they can run with the other big people and take care of themselves?

06/30/10

For the love of ....music

Have you ever watched a child cast one toy aside and reach for something else? A friend of mine once told me he had watched his grandchildren open gifts and cast each one aside looking for the next one while spending no time with the one they just opened.

He shared with me that at that point he knew his grandchildren had come to expect too much, wanting more and more — rather than being satisfied with one gift, they wanted to rip through dozens and then simply cast them aside.

I looked at my watch as mother drove by the old Colonial Grocery Store saying, “Hurry, Mom, we are going to be late.” Of course we were not going to be late. The piano store was just next door. I picked up my books and rushed inside. I was always amazed at a store filled with pianos — I really wanted to get there early so I could go through and try out several of them while I waited my turn with piano teacher Jean Stiles.

I do not know what made me want to go from instrument to instrument playing. Perhaps it was the same desire that made those children my friend had described ripping through more and more presents. Although the pianos were not mine and would not be.

I was intrigued by the talents of gospel pianist Hovie Lister, Eva Mae LeFevre and classical pianist Victor Borge. Several of my cousins had the knack to play piano along with their singing, so I had hoped the gene passed to me as well.

Of course, as a child of eight, my repertoire was a bit slim. In spite of the best efforts of my teacher, I was not the most proficient student who worked through “The Minuet” and “The Entertainer.”

No matter my deficiencies, I had a true desire and my mother supported that to no end. She worked overtime to afford a walnut Currier Spinet piano and pay for my lessons.

One day while sitting in my elementary school room, the entire course of my life changed. Dr. Donald Grisier, DeKalb County orchestra teacher, came into the room and played Ervin Rouse’s “Orange Blossom Special” on the violin. I have not been worth shooting since.

I had heard my great Uncle Tom Franks play the violin like his father had done before him at family gatherings, but now there was someone willing to sit and teach me.

After convincing my parents that I wanted to learn violin, I signed up. My mother once again went out of her way to see that I got the opportunity by renting an instrument. I also continued my piano study, but eventually it did fade away in the shadow of the fiddle. I realized I was not going to be the next Hovie Lister or Victor Borge. The fiddle would stick and lead me to some amazing places.

While I would never consider myself a pianist, the knowledge I gained while learning about the instrument has served me extremely well in every musical endeavor. The experience prepared me for a lifetime of lessons in almost every pursuit I’ve chosen to follow.

So, while at times children may be spoiled by piles and piles of material gifts that simply get laid aside, if a child shows interest in music, even if the child has absolutely no talent for it, and may someday lay the expensive instrument aside for other pursuits, remember as the child’s practicing causes the paint to peel in the family room, love of music is a gift that will last a lifetime and can span the generations.

06/23/10

God’s favorite postman
 
Throughout history, God has used many ways to send messages to us, angels, Moses, Jesus and others. I find one of his most interesting messengers is the weather.

When I was a child, I once appeared at a little Church of God tucked into the suburbs of North Atlanta, Ga.
This particular evening a guest minister was on the pulpit just preaching up a storm. That preacher began a sermon on the sacrament of baptism.

I always loved to see the late Hee Haw star the Rev. Grady Nutt. He is one of the funniest preachers I ever had the pleasure of watching.

On baptism, he would say there are “no instructions in the Bible about how to baptize” but from his descriptions, there are endless lists of things that can go wrong in the process.

Baptist preachers — they get right in there with ’em. About all Methodists can do is drop the cup.

The definition of baptism is to immerse or dip in water.
Nutt used to suggest using the word “dip” interchangeably with Baptist. Then millions would be members of the Southern Dip Church, the Southern Dip Convention; the group president would be the Big Dipper.

Baptising is no easy task; I had a friend who volunteered for new preacher duty at a Bible college one time and those fellers who were anxious to show they knew how to baptize nearly drowned him.

Nutt would say one thing to remember when baptizing in moving water is always point the person’s head upstream. You tend to lose them the other way.

Some folks tend to hold them under until they bubble — this might explain the number of Methodists.

Anyway, the visiting preacher began berating Methodists and the denomination’s approach to baptism through sprinkling. I could almost see the static electricity making my mother’s hair stand up on end as she listened.
Just about that time a bolt of lightning came down from the heavens, striking the transformer outside the little church and knocking out the power.

That preacher jumped three feet in the air, came down, hit the ground and without missing the rhythm of his message, “But no matter how they do it, those Methodists are good folks, too.”

He did not say another word about Methodists. My mom just could not keep from laughing.

I think God sometimes likes to send us a little postcard by airmail just to remind us he is listening.

Maybe if everyone was more aware of that fact, we would all be better off. We might just hear more good things than bad....

06/16/10

Come as you are  

Have you ever wondered what happened to dressin’ up when you go to town?

When I was growing up in Chamblee, Ga. we would often make the trek to town.

In our case, town would either be downtown Atlanta or Decatur. Whether we were out for a day of lookin’ and feelin’ at Rich’s department store or a trip to Starne’s Barber Shop for a shave and a haircut on the square in Decatur, when we walked out our front door, we looked our very best.

Notice how I said “lookin’ and feelin’” rather than shopping. That is what women folks would do with youngsters in tow. They would look and feel, only occasionally would the trip bear fruit with something being bought. In those days, many folks, like us, didn’t have air conditioning at home. A trip to the store on a hot summer day was a welcome relief.

I never did get a shave at Starne’s but I sure did lose a lot of hair. Mr. Starnes gave me my first haircut as my cousin Arthur, who was in barber training, watched. I would soon be turned over to Arthur for several of my early haircuts. In looking at early pictures, I can only say they were fond of flattops.

Course as a child, being dressed up often would include a little bit of dirt within just a few minutes of putting on those clothes. I can still hear my mom saying “What am I going to do with you, you get dirtier than a east Tennessee coal miner.” But what is a young boy to do when there is a perfectly good mud puddle just waiting there to be jumped in?

I can still see my mom in a pretty dress gray gabardine outfit with matching black hat, gloves, handbag and high heel shoes.

Maybe the concept of being dressed up has changed.
Maybe folks look at designer jeans and a T-shirt or sweats as the fashion of the day. All of them are ridiculously expensive. They are a lot easier to upkeep than walking out in a crisply starched shirt, tie and slacks each and every day.

I just don’t understand what happened to the custom of looking your best. I remember even when we would spend time on my grandparents mountain farm, folks worked hard and wore clothes that would carry that load. But when it came time to go to town for something, I remember grandma Kitty going to her cedar wardrobe and pulling out her blue Sunday dress to put on.

Even if folks were dirt poor, they made sure that when they went to town or school or wherever they looked the best they could afford.

Folks generally still dress up to go to church. However, in some churches they don’t even do that anymore. They just say ‘come as you are.’ Now, there is nothing wrong with this. Cause I know God welcomes anyone no matter if they are in overalls or hole-y jeans. But there is just something to be said to giving God your very best effort.

In the past, folks took pride in the way they looked, their dress, their grooming. My dad, would never leave the house with a hair out of place. Was that vanity, possibly. But that is one impression of him that people who knew him still remember today.

Now I am not saying that I have never left the house without being perfectly dressed and groomed. I do run out to the grocery or the gas station in a less than dressed-up fashion.

While I never owned a pair of blue jeans until I was in my teens, I do occasionally wear them to town with a nice shirt and even on stage when appropriate.

My parents ust to say “We’ve worked hard to get off the farm and out of overalls, there is no reason for you to wear them.”

That was no slight on farming or farmers on their part. When they were coming up, farmers like other country folk were looked down upon by city people. While nostalgic to us today, their roots of walking barefoot behind the mule as the fresh-turned earth came up between their toes was something many folks worked to get away from, especially during the depths of the depression.

With some pairs of jeans these days costing more than a pair of slacks, in a way, I guess they are dressy in their own right. If you really want to get fancy you can buy them with holes already worn in them. I heard of folks in east Georgia making a fortune by firing buckshot at jeans for some company. They can be pre-washed and I imagine somewhere you can buy them pre-worn and be charged extra for somebody else breaking them in. No matter what, they are here to stay.

I guess the days of everyone wearing their best when they go to town is a thing of the past. It is amazing what a new coat of paint and little fixing up can do to a house. It only makes since that we do the same for ourselves or we can just “come as we are,” no matter where we go. It could be a little embarrassing for some folks though, depending on what they were doing when they get the invite.

06/09/10

Every encounter leaves a memory
 
God has blessed us with so many things in this world.
For a columnist like myself, who spends so much time writing stories based upon the experiences and memories of things and people I have known, the memory is of tremendous importance.
I imagine that is true of most everyone.
Have you ever noticed how people we know or love that leave us to move away or go to be with God, stay with us in memory often as we last saw them? It is almost like computers, when you call up a file, that image comes up on the screen.
High school reunions are a perfect opportunity for changing lifelong memories. We often think of our classmates as we last saw them, and then we are faced with trying to recognize them years later.
I know in my own case, when I returned for my five-year reunion, I had changed so greatly that not a soul recognized me except a couple of people with whom I stayed in touch.
Of course, for me, the social side of high school left a lot to be desired. Let’s just say, I was not on the “A” list. So when it came time for the reunion, I wanted to make sure that I represented myself well.
With the help of a long-time friend, a style consultant, I bought a new suit, got a new haircut and added that to the changes which had already occurred in my physical appearance from working out on a regular basis.
I chose to arrive early and offer assistance to the committee setting everything up. I wanted to see how they would receive me. They were glad to get the help, but did not know me, which allowed me a chance to just observe the arrivals. Eventually everyone had to check-in and get their name buttons that sported a copy of their senior picture.
After discovering my true identity, one of the “A” teamers — cheerleader and social leader — was so amazed at my transformation, she proceeded to parade me around with her hand over my chest where the name button was, quizzing many of the other attendees for my identity.
None guessed correctly.
Immediately, I became the center of attention. While I had held center stage for years as an entertainer, my status as a performer had mostly been unknown to my schoolmates. So, in this forum, it was a unique chance for me to become different in all their memories. I was voted the most changed.
Maybe it is a little self-centered of me then to place such importance on this recognition by my school peers. As I continue through life in the scheme of other opportunities the Lord has given me, it does not seem earth-moving, but I do look back fondly on that night when I felt like the King of the Reunion. While only a handful of those folks play an ongoing part in my life or connect through Facebook, changing the image in the minds of the others was a great blessing the Lord gave to me back then.
Every encounter we have with a person could be how they remember us for the rest of their lives.
If we think about that every time we walk out of a room, hang up a phone or simply leave our family to get a loaf of bread, that certainly places more responsibility upon us to leave them with a memory we would want them to have.
Certainly makes each day and each task a little more important, doesn’t it?

06/02/10

Remembering a WWII Ace
  
As he stepped into the cockpit of an F-16, it was a milestone for the then 76 –year-old pilot to take to the skies.
At 89, he would once again go up in a B-1B Lancer.
A few years ago, I watched several youth from my hometown in Ringgold, Ga. step into F-16 simulators; I wondered if any of them could have the spark that ignited the interest of another Georgian who became one of America’s greatest aviators.
Some years ago, I was invited to speak in Houston County, Ga., at the newly-constructed high school when I took an opportunity to dine with a true American hero the late Brig. Gen. Robert Lee Scott, Jr.
As the World War II Ace entered the room, it was easy to see that at 82 he still had the energy of 20-year-old. He was not a big man in size, but wielded a huge presence. I could easily envision him fitting almost perfectly in the cockpit of a P-40 airplane with his hands on the controls, dodging machine gun fire as he knocked Japanese Zeros from the sky.
As he led us through countless tales of his adventures, I longed to know more about him and would go on to read two of his books “The Day I Owned the Sky” and the best seller “God is My Co-Pilot.” He was born in Waynesboro, Ga., in 1908, but grew up in Macon. As an adventuresome child, who managed to squeeze more into a day than anyone could imagine, he was introduced to flight at the age of four when he saw a devastating crash that took the life of early naval pilot Eugene Ely. He would later fashion a make-shift glider from revival tent canvas and fly it off the highest roof in town. The short lived flight would introduce him to both the elation and realities of flying.
This would be the only crash of his flying career.
Eventually he decided to pursue his goal of becoming a fighter pilot. After going back to school and studying, he reached West Point through a Presidential appointment. His first assignment after flight training was at Mitchell Field, N.Y. This was a time when the army took over flying the mail from Newark, N.J. to Cleveland, Ohio.
By the time World War II started, he had already spent nine years in the air serving his country, but he would not be accepted as a fighter pilot because he was 34 — too old for combat.
In March, 1942, he volunteered and was accepted for a top secret mission to bomb Tokyo. This mission was scrubbed after Scott arrived at Karachi, India, so he was reassigned as the Deputy of Operations for the Assam-Burma-China Ferry Command. His mission was to fly supplies over the Himalayas to the Gen. Claire Chennault’s American Volunteer Group, the“Flying Tigers.”
His missions opened the door for Scott to eventually fly a P-40 as a “guest” for Chennault’s “Flying Tigers,” scoring 13 aerial victories. When the volunteer group was inducted into the U.S. Army Air Force, Scott became commander of its newly formed 23rd Fighter Group.
By late 1942, he was a double ace, and by February, 1943, he headed back to the states a hero.
Like so many other celebrities, he made speeches. One of those speeches inspired publisher Charles Scribner to commission the book “God is My Co-Pilot.” Another speech stop gave Jack Warner of Warner Brothers the urge to put Scott’s story on the silver screen starring Dennis Morgan.
After 36 years of service, Scott retired in 1957. He continued with adventures, like walking the length of the Great Wall of China before America had “open” relations with China.
He lost his wife, the love of his life, Kitty Rix in 1972.
At 88, he carried the Olympic torch for the summer games in Atlanta.
In latter life, he stayed busy working as national chairman of the Museum of Aviation at Robins Air Force Base in Warner Robins, Georgia. On most days you could find this remarkable man visiting with America’s youth as they come through the museum or out making appearances to raise funds for the museum.
We were truly blessed to have Gen. Scott as a testimony to the heroism of Americans who have fought for our country. Let us not forget those this week who are no longer with us because they answered a call to duty and country. And let us pray for those who now are on the fields, seas and in the clouds keeping us safe.

05/26/10

Refilling the well with love

As Pearl looked into the eyes of her father, Grandpa Bill looked back with a stare that was almost empty.
There was nothing more scary, more disheartening than looking into those deep blue eyes that had given so much throughout life, such caring, such love and on occasion a stern glance that made you know you were on very thin ice.
But now as he looked upon you there were moments that he did not know who you were.
Pearl longed for a chance once again to hear his gentle voice speak her name for no other reason except to be sure that he knew her.
Fear overcame her worrying that such a moment might not come again or perhaps his thoughts might land in a place of anger and frustration making him want to strike out at her and those who love him so much.
The family had seen the cycle again and again as the older generation slowly yielded its control to the next, albeit sometimes kicking and screaming along the way.
But that is only appropriate not to go quietly into that good night.
In the valley below the Gravelly Spur Mountain there is no such thing as a nursing home or assisted living. You found your assistance at home among your family and friends.
No matter your age or disability there was always some series of chores you could perform to keep a daily routine until you body rebelled and no longer allowed you to do them.
Then if your hands remained active, a chore that required only slight movement might be shared, peeling potatoes, breaking green beans, sewing on buttons.
But Grandpa Bill had reached the point that those days were behind him and he was giving comfort only in the brief moments of clarity as they came and went within him.
Pearl wondered what she might do to make the situation better, alas there was little she could do except be there leaning back in the woven seat oak chair holding his hand as it lay upon the blue and white cotton patchwork quilt. She tried to make each day as close to what he wanted as possible.
There was no doubt of the love shared between the father and daughter and yet that did not ease the fearful moments when the ravages of time seemed to wipe it clean like the swipe of an eraser across a school blackboard removing the chalk so no one could see it.
But she found her solace waiting for that next moment when the writing once again appeared on Grandpa Bill’s class slate perhaps not in all its detail but enough to hold on to. Enough to sustain until there was no more.
It makes one wonder where love goes when the board is wiped clean.
Perhaps that is the purpose of family caring for family. The well of love pours out throughout the lives of those contributing filling the hearts of those around them. When the well begins to dry up does that mean that the love is gone? Of course not, the love still remains within all those who have shared in it throughout that person’s life.
As the level of one’s well begins to diminish it is simply the job of all of those who have drank from that well to now bring some of that love back to that person.
Just because they may not be able to drink it in fully does not make the gift any less valued.

05/19/10

Bubba to the rescue 
 
The recent scenes of flooding in Nashville and the earnest efforts of so many music stars to reach out and help spurred in my memory a close up picture of similar devastation.
In the early 1990s, Albany, Ga. endured the worst floods it had ever seen, affecting thousands of the residents, destroying homes and taking several lives.
While acting on “In the Heat of the Night,” my fellow actors and I often gave our time to support various causes. While I do not remember exactly how the trip to Albany came about, that is, whether they contacted us or we contacted them, I remember Alan Autry, “Bubba,” asking me if I would make the trip with him to visit with some of the people affected by the event.
John Stacy was then working with the Sheriff’s Association and had access to the disaster area, which was restricted to only those affected and assistance personnel. We visited with John Stacy at his home in Columbus, spending time with his wife Elaine and family and then riding with him to Albany.
Seeing how the flood washed away the lives of so many people was devastating.
I had visited Albany for several years, performing musically and making annual appearances on Ruthie Garner’s show on WALB, our NBC affiliate, as well as the Fox affiliate that later carried us in syndication.
I remember one rescue worker sharing the story of an elderly couple which they had tried several times to get to a shelter as the waters were rising. The lady refused to leave her home. Her husband tried to get her to go, but she would not, so he remained with her. Following the flood, they found them together. As the floodwaters got higher and higher they continued to move higher and higher in their little one-story house. They had cut a hole in their ceiling above the refrigerator to try to get above the rising water. Tragically, they did not survive, but the love that man showed by staying behind with his wife has stayed with me to this day.
Alan and I visited numerous shelters where these people were wondering whether there would be anything left of their home when they returned.
After many years on television, I had seen how the aura attached with being in show business could draw people’s attention, but in this setting I saw how it could ever so briefly help to lift the spirits of those truly in need of a diversion.
As we entered one of the gyms, an elderly woman walked past us. I remember her clutching her light blue jacket closed to thwart off the cold damp air. She probably was nearing 80, and as she slowly walked with shoulders stooped, it appeared that she carried the weight of the disaster upon her frail little shoulders. After a few steps, she stopped, looked back, took a few more steps, stopped again and looked back once more. Finally, she looked up at Alan and said, “You’re Bubba Skinner.”
As she went through this process of deduction, you could see the weight of the world leaving her. Her shoulders straightened. A smile came upon her face. Here she was in the midst of a gym with hundreds of her neighbors, homeless and uncertain about the future, but for one brief moment all that went away as she saw “Bubba.”
Upon closer examination, she said to me, “And you’re the other one.” Many of us on the show carried that name, especially when traveling with Alan.
As we walked through the shelters that day, I watched hundreds of mothers, fathers, grandparents and children come from their wooden cots and quilt pallets strewn across basketball courts, school hallways and offices to make the effort to walk up to say hello. Some shared their stories and their concerns, but most simply wanted to shake hands and talk about the show. I do not know how long the visits lingered with them, but they linger with me still today.
Finding strength in the face of adversity is difficult. From those survivors, I learned that sometimes strength can be found in a simple handshake and a few moments shared with someone who cares.
When God opened the door for me to be on television, he allowed me to have so many wonderful experiences. Seeing Bubba come to the rescue not with gun or fist, but with handshake and open heart, and being a small part of it myself, truly is one of my favorite memories.
I commend all those stars and musicians reaching out to help. Many of them are survivors themselves. Tennessee and Nashville needs you to reach out through organized charities such as the American Red Cross, church disaster teams, and any reputable opportunity you can find to donate, volunteer and make a difference in the lives of our neighbors. A couple of reputable efforts helping musicians and their families affected are found at http://www.nashvillemusicians.org/ and www.musicares.com/NashvilleFloodRelief. Pray for the families and those trying to assist and serve them.
(Alan Autry photo courtesy City of Fresno)

05/12/10

"I'll Fly Away's"
Amazing Albert E. Brumley
 
When you think of some of the greatest songwriters in history, one of the names that float to the top is Albert E. Brumley.
If the name does not ring a bell, with you, perhaps you know his songs “I’ll Fly Away,” “I’ll Meet You in the Morning,” “Turn Your Radio On,” “Jesus Hold My Hand” and the list of approximately 800 songs goes on and on.
There is probably not a soul who had any Christian religious exposure who has not heard or uttered the words he crafted.
I had the pleasure of speaking with Mr. Brumley’s son Bob who went to work with his dad years ago and today continues promoting his late father’s music.
“What I am trying to do is keep Dad’s songs and legacy alive and see that his songs don’t ever die out,” he said. “He was a great writer.”
Brumley was born in Oklahoma but made his home in Powell, Mo. He said “I’ll Fly Away” was born from his desire to fly from the work in the cotton fields as a boy.
As a songwriter myself, I was amazed to learn how Mr. Brumley actually composed.
“He was pretty unique individual when he wrote,” Bob said. “He wasn’t one that just got up and went to the piano and tried things out.
“When he wrote the words and started putting the music to them, he wrote all four parts at the same time,” he said. “You’d sit there and watch him put the lead note, alto and so on. He put them down at the same time. Every once in a while, he’d get up and go to the piano just to make sure it’s where he wanted it.
Bob said that his dad was a student of harmony but he also worked to make his tunes and words simple with a message.
He noted as an example the now classic hymn “How Great Thou Art” which had its beginnings in Sweden with Carl Gustaf Boberg and after more than 40 years, missionary Stuart K. Hine added music and additional words to the work.
“It's such a powerful song,” he said. “It says a whole lot in such few words. It’s got a powerful tune. I think if had a tune that wasn’t to the standard of the words it would have never done that well.“
So Bob said for his dad it was combining the right words and the right music that helped create so many amazing songs.
Although Bob tried his hand at songwriting, he said he found his strength working behind the scenes promoting his father’s great talents through Albert E. Brumley and Sons publishing, selling their songbooks and other endeavors such as the 42nd annual Brumley Gospel Sing August 4-7 at Cowan Civic Center in Lebanon, Missouri. Thirty-two of the greatest acts in gospel music will appear with ticket general admission tickets ranging from $15 for one night to $45 for four nights. Reserved tickets are also available. Ticket orders during business hours can be made by calling  (800) 435-3725 or visit www.brumleymusic.com for more information.
Bob passed on the musical gene to yet a third generation - his daughters. The Brumleys, Elaine and Betsy, are promoting the Brumley MusicFest on May 14-15 at the Bentonville High School in Bentonville, Ark.
This two-night event will feature 5 groups each night. Friday Night leans more toward Southern Gospel with Mark Bishop, Aaron Wilburn, Brian Free and Assurance, Karen Peck and New River, and the Dove Brothers while Saturday is more Bluegrass with The Grascals, Mark Bishop, Aaron Wilburn, Little Roy and Lizzy, and the Chuck Wagon Gang. Tickets start from $60 for a two-night reserved seat ticket, to $20 for a one-night general admission seat. For more information, call  (888) 462-6718 www.brumleymusicfest.com.

05/05/10

Is one Mother’s Day a year enough?

I often wonder if people really realize the enormous task of thanking a mother for all she has done for her children. It seems that we have a day for everything anymore. A day to thank secretaries, grandparents, fathers and so many others. There should be a day to recognize all these people. All of these people deserve thanks.
But does a Hallmark card or a bouquet of flowers one time a year really pay homage to all the sacrifices that a mother makes for her children?
I know my late mother did without things she needed to see that my brothers and I had food to eat, clothes to wear and a roof to sleep under.
I know she faced enormous heartache in seeing that this sick child got what he needed to stay alive. I know she worked endless hours vacuuming, dusting and washing to keep our home clean when I was a child so I could have a semi-normal childhood rather than be confined to a bubble environment. I know she sent endless prayers to God when I was upon death’s door as a child and adult. Those prayers with God’s answers brought me back when there was nothing medical science could do.
How many opportunities did she pass up so she could be at home with me bandaging my skinned knees and wiping away the tears? How many cold mornings did she freeze as a school crossing guard so she could be near in case I had an emergency?
How many little things did she not get for herself so I could have a new pair of pants, a coat or shoes or to make payments on a violin or piano? How many times did she go to bat for me to protect me from something that she felt was not right? How many extra hours did she work to pay for music lessons?
How can you thank a person for more than 20,000 meals, 4,000 loads of laundry or 5,000 ironed shirts? How can you thank her for making sure you had a warm, safe place to sleep and clothes to wear? How can you thank her for years of guidance, endless hours of help with homework and special school projects, driving thousands of trips back and forth to everything from school to music recitals or sporting events? How can you thank her for the school fundraisers she coordinated? The special interests she cultivated in you? Alternatively, for having enough endurance to handle 12 rowdy boys week after week as a Cub Scout Den Mother?
How can you do this with just a card or some flowers? I have not even touched the surface of the sacrifices and gifts many mother’s give.
As Mother’s Day rolls by, will your tribute measure up to all of the things a mother does?
Probably not, but you know what, that is another great thing about mothers, in most cases it is the thought that counts. One rose will sometimes speak volumes.
However, one day a year just does not seem enough. Maybe we should remember what mothers do every day. Let’s not forget to tell them what they mean to us and show our appreciation with each and every passing day. What if you do not have another chance to let her know you care? How many thank you’s will pay for all they do? How big a gift will show them how much you appreciate them? You can never repay this debt, but what’s great is they forgave the debt with each thing they did and continue to do just because they love you and would do anything for you.
God Bless Mothers, every one.


04/28/10

Bah, Bah, Bah Bing  

I am amazed at some of the items we save in life. I have gone through literally hundreds of scraps of paper that through the years I have tossed in boxes to save for one reason or another.
There is drawing of my house in seven shades of green from first grade that I can't seem to part with. It's apparent to me from this picture that I am actually from a family of leprechauns who long for Ireland but keep our identities well hidden. It was getting over the height thing that made it simple, but this drawing reveals the green truth.
There's that third grade report card with the good grades, it was sooo easy to toss the one with the bad grades away and that note Mrs. Crumbley sent home to my parents. I didn't get many of those, there is great value in a few well-placed paddle swats, at least there was for me. Hey, what's this paddle still doing in here?
In my childhood Bible, there is a clipping that still remains strong in my memory. The headline "Irene Ryan dies." For those of you who might not remember that name, for me as a kid, she was someone who I cared about because she made me laugh on television - "Granny Clampett" from "The Beverly Hillbillies." I took her passing hard.
In one box, I found newspapers that I saved of events that seemed significant to me as a kid and in many ways at the time they were significant to everyone because they were the ends of eras because of the passing of some of our greatest performers.
Many of the articles related to the 1977 passings of people I admired.
One of those was Elvis, I still remember watching the funeral coverage on television, it was like a president or a head of state had died. Another passing who was the idol of perhaps the previous generation was singer, actor, entertainer Bing Crosby.
Ever since my earliest memories, the work of Bing Crosby was an inspiration to me. As a sickly child stuck in bed or on the couch for hours on end, the old black and white and color movies that he starred in were a refuge for me coming across the old Zenith set.
I watched films such as “White Christmas,” “The Bells of St. Mary’s,” “Going My Way,” and all the road pictures he shared with Bob Hope. Without them, I know my childhood would have been less entertained.
It was those movies more than any other, which inspired me to want to perform in film. I wish there were still a medium such as these created by the major studios in which to participate.
Growing up, I never missed the Crosby Christmas specials. For me they were the highlight of the holiday. Christmas was just not the same without hearing Bing smoothly share “White Christmas” and see him share some duets with whoever were that year’s guests.
I guess I could also say I was also a bit smitten as a kid with Bing’s daughter, Mary.
I remember the day I heard of Bing’s passing on that golf course in Madrid, Spain back in 1977. I remember feeling as if I had lost a member of my family. I am sure there were millions who felt the same way.
While working on “In the Heat of the Night,” I had the pleasure of meeting and working with two of his children, Gary Crosby and the object of that childhood crush - Mary.
As it has been reported, Bing’s first four boys, Gary, Lindsay, Philip and Dennis, with actress Dixie Lee and his other children, Mary, Nathaniel and Harry, with wife Kathryn have different views on this icon of American cinema and his family life ranging from a strict disciplinarian to a loving, caring father.
Getting to work with someone from both sets of children gave me a little look behind the curtain into their thoughts about their father.
It is the loving, caring father of Mary’s world with which I most identify him. I see that Bing in the movies and as part of my family.
I wish we had more performers such as he today. Perhaps we do and there is just no medium in which they can show their talents like there was in the early 20th century.
It is amazing how a little scrap of newspaper from 33 years ago can bring back the importance a person or an item has in your life. I guess that is why we folks tend to hold onto things. Even after people are gone, they never really leave us, especially the stars of film and television. Now with cable and the Internet, they are always just a click away.
{Irene Ryan photo courtesy TVLand.. Watch The Beverly Hillbillies daily on TVLand (r) www.tvland.com/}

04/21/10

The Winstead root cellar
 
As the Depression wore on in the valley below the Gravelly Spur Mountain, some families were not able to make it through the hard times. It was not unusual for a farmhouse to be deserted and nary a soul would stir in the area for weeks or months at a time.
The old Winstead farm was one of those places. In its day the two-story gingerbread house had been a beautiful place to live but the ravages of time had taken its toll. The once white paint had turned gray and peeled with the winds of rain. The yard looked much like something one would see in a horror film grown high with weeds. The once cleanly swept dirt yard was scattered with leaves.
Despite it being abandoned and somewhat haunted looking; many of the valley children enjoyed making the farm their playground.
Bully Johnny Warrant often used the house as a place to mount his pranks on unsuspecting classmates as they played.
One of his favorite pranks was to lure someone into the root cellar slamming the door and leaving them to fend for themselves against the dark musty cold earthen room.
Johnny had set his sites on Taylor Henderson as his next target but Willie Wycott had alerted Taylor about his three-hour quarantine in the room trying to work his way out the week before.
Without Johnny knowing, Willie had hid a shovel in the room and when he locked him in, Willie shoveled his way out leaving an escape tunnel. So, Johnny would not find it he hid the dirt beneath some abandoned shelves and covered the hole with an old board.
Willie told Taylor about the escape route so when Johnny set up his plan to capture him inside Taylor was ready. A game of tag led Taylor into the cellar with Johnny eluding him and giving just enough time to slam the door shut. Johnny worked to quickly slide the wooden bolt in place securing Taylor inside.
Knowing what was coming, Taylor wasted no time in locating the escape three paces to the right of the old wooden storage shelves, which once held the Winstead winter stores. He climbed through the tunnel just barely large enough for his frame emerging in the field behind the cellar.
He brushed away all signs of his crawl through the earth.
Johnny liked to perch himself upon the earthen hill in which the root cellar entrance was placed and like the cock of the walk gloat over his conquest. As he sat there reveling in his victory, behind him Taylor slowly crept up. In a disguised voice he chuckled “I see you got another one,”
Without even turning around, Johnny chuckled and said “Yeah, that dopey Taylor Henderson is in there. He was the easiest one yet.”
“Was he?” he said, as Taylor sat down beside Johnny on the hill. As Johnny looked at him in bewilderment Taylor helped Johnny slip from his perch on the earthen mound to the ground below.
“How did you do that?” Johnny asked.
“Do what?” Taylor said.
“Get out of the cellar,” Johnny said.
“Didn’t you know I can walk through walls?” he said. “It runs in my family. Everybody in family can do it.”
Johnny stared at him in amazement not knowing what to say.
Taylor looked him in the eyes and said, “You know we can do much more than that. You should be careful who you try to catch in your traps. You never know when you might get caught yourself.”
Taylor got up and walked away as Johnny just stood there staring at the lock he slid closed moments before.

04/14/10

Pickin' with Doodle
 
With my fiddle case in hand, I excused myself through the crowd. They had gathered around a group pickin’ in the parking lot of the Cobb County Bluegrass Festival in Marietta, Ga. Georgia promoter Dillard Rogers had started the event where many a group would cut their teeth on stage in front of a large audience of supportive bluegrass fans. It was not unusual for my parents and I to attend when I was learning my way around the instrument. If I was learning to swim, this might be considered the old fashioned throw him in the water and he will swim out or drown. Of course, it really was not that harsh, though as a novice, it sure could seem that way. What was amazing at Marietta and similar events, were the endless line of jam sessions. For a youngster with a desire to learn, it was like being in a candy store.
I would often take off on my own down through the rows of pickers, listening and soaking in the sounds, hoping possibly to find someone who would encourage me to take my instrument out and play a tune.
Though I thought I was being a big man on my own in the wilds of the music world leaving my parents in their seats at the concert stage, I discovered as time went on my father was often just a few steps behind, keeping a watchful eye and ear to report back to my mom.
Mother often cautioned me not to go down where Doodle was playing. I fully intended to follow her directions but it wasn’t until I got to the midst of this crowd that I realized it was Doodle and all the Golden River Grass. As best I recall from that day, it was Bill Kee on fiddle, Lynn Elliot on guitar, Gene Daniell on bass and James Watson on banjo. 
Doodle had the crowd worked up to a fever seeing his energy, hearing his jokes, and watching him generally play the comedic role that endeared him to thousands of fans and to the folks who rolled into Thrower’s Trading Post at Tallapoosa, Ga.
While I didn’t pull my fiddle out, I can recall Doodle asking me “Do you play that thing or just carry it along for company.” Well, I didn’t play it for him that day; I just listened and soaked up the sounds that created tremendous electricity around them when they walked on stage. The group represented the unique 1920s-30s era Georgia Fiddle Band genre which had associated with it some raucous subject matters such as moonshining … Let’s just say that Doodle sometimes took those matters a bit serious and his comedy might lean a bit blue as the night wore on. That is what drew my mother’s warnings. But it was the music that really amazed me.
Of course, being ever mindful of my “Yes, Ma’am,” I made my way back through the crowd catching my dad patting his foot at the edge. Of course, we both agreed, that we would keep the diversion between us.
Several years passed, I grew into my teen years when I received the call from bassist Gene Daniell asking if I would have an interest in coming to perform with the band then also including James Watson on clawhammer banjo, C.J. Clackum on guitar, Wesley Clackum on mandolin and of course John "Doodle" Thrower on harmonica.
The first opportunity I had to decline because of a conflict but eventually I would join them for a show. My parents, who were my managers, allowed me to go and do a show, which they attended, and mother used the opportunity to lay out some ground rules with Doodle for my participation in the band. Let’s just say in short, he was to keep everything about his show family friendly from that point forward, which he did.
I learned so much during my time with the group from watching Doodle bring an audience into his corner so when he left the stage they would beg for more. It wasn’t the complexity of the music. In fact it was so simple, I am sure some musicians looked down on what we shared at times. It was so simple it was hard, no one could mimic us, and the sound was unique because of the talents that made up the group. The late folklorist Alan Lomax included Doodle and the band in his PBS documentary “The Appalachian Journey” and Charles Kuralt captured his essence for the CBS Evening News.
I appeared in front of what I think is the largest sea of people I have ever seen at the National Folk Festival with the group. I was told 60,000 folks were in the crowd and we performed live on radio. I was scared to death as I walked out and hit those first few notes to start our show. Remember, fiddle bands lean heavily on the fiddler. But once I got started the roar of the crowd was both deafening and spiritually uplifting.
Music stars such as Marty Stuart looked up to Doodle. I can still remember a late night Florida jam session watching Marty soak him in. “We lost one of the cornerstones of original country music,” Marty said when Doodle died. “He and his band were truly what country music is all about.” I agree, he was an American treasure and so was this band, this sound of which I was simply a fiddle standard bearer for a while. The band recorded about eight albums in its career now mostly out of print and appears on some folk music anthologies. You can catch some vintage home video of me performing with the band at our newest addition to randallfranks.com - Randall Franks TV. I hope you will sit a spell and see and hear the folk music magic that was Doodle and the Golden River Grass ….
(Doodle's photo from appearance at National Folk Festival from the cover of his final CD including his last show)

04/07/10

Bluegrass star David Davis makes Alabama Bluegrass Hall of Fame
 
One of my longest friendships in bluegrass music began in a livestock barn at the Cedartown Fairgrounds in Georgia. My Peachtree Pickers and his Warrior River Boys were both appearing on the same show that was deluged by a rainstorm. The livestock barn was our only source of dry at the site. So many of us found ourselves in the barn after jumping mud puddles that would drown a duck.
David Davis had just taken over the reins of his group and was forging a new path while I was in the midst of my work with my youth group. I was busy during that time fiddling with other acts as well including Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys.
David, his late father Leddell, and I chewed the fat for quite a while that evening. It led to me becoming a utility fill-in member with the Warrior River Boys as various musicians were unable to perform. I always enjoyed my time playing fiddle or other instruments with the talented performers who made up the group through the years.
Of course, as time passed and I was given opportunities to appear in larger venues, I was able to use the group to appear on my shows as part of my Hollywood Hillbilly Jamboree.
I am giving David a big shout out this week because he recently was inducted to the Alabama Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame. Congratulations David, I am proud of you.
Davis and his Warrior River Boys continue to be among the top recording artists in their industry. Their latest Rebel Records CD “Two Dimes A Nickel” was #11 on the Cashbox top bluegrass albums chart in March.
The Cullman, Ala. native has led the Warrior River Boys for 26 years forging a unique place for his artistic flair. He has appeared live for over two million people in 45 states, all Canadian provinces, and even the Bahamas. The group itself actually continues a 40-year musical legacy.
“I am tremendously honored to be included among these talented honorees,” Davis said.
“I accept this honor on behalf of so many great players and singers who came through the band in last 25 years from Alabama and other states,” he said.
He credited his early musical opportunities to the influences of his late father Leddell Davis, his grandfather J.H. Bailey and all his family. His Uncle Cleo Davis was Bill Monroe’s first Blue Grass Boy.
Of course, his love of bluegrass comes naturally as part of one of the industry’s first families.
Davis also thanked the late honoree Garry Thurmond for giving him his start in professional music.
“Being accepted by your peers and friends is something we work hard for and it is appreciated,” he said.
Other inductees were Herb Trotman, Ginger Boatwright, the Brasher Brothers, and the late guitarist Garry Thurmond, formerly of the Flint River Boys and Warrior River Boys.
Davis attended the Alabama Bluegrass Music Association event March 19 at Bessemer, Ala. with his wife Cindy, his mother Lucille Davis, aunt Avnell Nail and friend Mack Dunlap.
He said that he is extremely proud of his Alabama musical roots drawing upon the heritage of other Alabamians including Hank Williams and the Louvin Brothers.
“For the last three albums, I have been making a conscious effort to create music that will appeal to all ages while remaining the most traditional sound out there,” he said. “I have been working to find the right balance between the traditional sound that we are respected for preserving while creating music that will cross all music genres.”
Currently his group includes Marty Hays playing bass, Owen Saunders playing fiddle, Robert Montgomery on banjo and Brad Folk on guitar.
Davis said Bill Monroe was innovative for his time, and he is working to bring a new approach to the tradition for today.
“We are continuing to find that needle in the haystack to create a style with the traditional roots that will be accepted by today’s audiences,” he said.
For more information about the group, visit www.daviddavisandwrb.com.

03/31/10

Grits and Gravy

I was in seventh grade when I realized why the Yankees invaded the South.

Folks might say that it was to keep the Union together but the real reason behind it was they didn’t have grits and gravy and we did.

I was on a seventh grade trip to Washington, D.C. and sat myself down at one of those fancy uptown restaurants where they have more waiters than you can shake a stick at.

When the feller came over I spoke up and said, “I would like two eggs, a side of grits and biscuits with gravy. And don’t skimp on the gravy.”

That fellow just stood there with eyes wide open and said, “What is a grit?”

I knew that I was in trouble up to my elbows.

What is a grit? How do you explain something like that?

I fumbled around pretty good for a kid trying to explain how grits are made:

“Well you see, a grit comes from corn - when it is ground up. You cook grits in water and can serve them several different ways, some folks eat them with sugar on them, some folks like cheese in them and other folks eat the just plain with a little butter.”

He still just stared at me.

Finally I gave up and said, “Well if you don’t have grits what do you have?”

“We have hashbrowns,” he said.

I said that would be fine if he had some ketchup to go with them.

He then told me they didn’t have any biscuits but they had some toast.

He asked me if I still wanted brown gravy on my toast ‘cause “it normally goes on mashed potatoes.”

I told him I wanted some gravy made from grease drippings of bacon or sausage mixed with flour and a bit of milk. His eyes began to fog over as I tried to explain the recipe I had seen my grandmother and mother make morning after morning.

“Reach and get you a good handful of flour and drop it in the cast iron skillet with the droppings. Then add you a couple of pinches of black pepper and just enough milk not to make it into soup and brown it until it's done.”

I finally surmised that it would be hopeless to try any further and besides, there were three others at the table that had to order and we had a bus to catch.

So I said, “Well you don’t have grits or biscuits or gravy; any chance on getting those eggs?”

He shook his head yes.

I asked, “Would you be so kind as to bring me those?”

He replied, “Would you like eggs Benedict, eggs Florentine or poached?”

I told him if he had to steal them I just wait until I got home.
The war's been over 145 years and them Yankees are still stealling eggs from chicken coops.

Friends, I hope my story brought you a smile. I am smiling today too as I remember fondly one of the funniest Southern entertainers I looked up to in my life. 

He was just 4 feet 8 inches tall, but my friend Charlie "Peanut" Faircloth entertained millions in his long career as an entertainer on radio, TV and stage beginning on the Mutual radio network in the 1940s. He helped launch Brenda Lee to stardom, eased along the career of Elvis Presley and gave work to numerous Hall of Famers such as "Rocky Top" composer Boudleaux Bryant, and Grammy winners such as Norman Blake. The Decca artist rose to national recording stardom in the 1950s beginning with the song "I'll Sail My Ship Alone" but a lifetime of country, gospel and bluegrass recordings came afterwards. His best-known original song "Reindeer Boogie" won him a Gold Record when Trisha Yearwood recorded it, but my favorite and his most requested comedy piece was the "Chew Tobacco Spittune." Peanut went home to be with the Lord March 16 at the age of 82. While you may not have known him, I am one of those artists he encouraged, so if I brought you a smile, in a way it is passed along from his input in me, mixed along with the lessons of my other mentors.

03/24/10

Animals are Christians, too — aren’t they?

When there was no place among people for Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem, the animals made room for the birth of Jesus in a stable. Donkeys and horses were probably among the first to look upon the Son of God.
Isn’t it only appropriate that there be a place for them in the Kingdom of God? I am reminded of an old farmer, Jebadiah Cross who had worked his fields side by side with his old gray mule named Flossie for many years. When Flossie died, he called the Presbyterian preacher to come and do the funeral for his Flossie.
Upon arrival, the elderly preacher stepped down from the buggy, dusted his long black overcoat, and straightened his black stovepipe hat. He prepared himself for comforting the family. He was shocked when Jebediah led him to the barn and he discovered the dearly departed Flossie was only a mule. He popped on his hat, said there was no way he would ever preside over a service for a mule and sped towards his carriage.
So Jebadiah called on the new Methodist minister. Just in his twenties, he had arrived from seminary to serve an established congregation. This was to be his first funeral. Nervously, the young man came out to visit Jebadiah. After discovering that Flossie was not a member of the family, the minister had to break the news that he could not do it because he was worried about how his new congregation might react.
Finally, he called a Baptist pastor. The pastor arrived in a Ford Model T. It almost sighed with relief when the middle-aged well-fed pastor stepped to the ground. Again, Jebediah led the clergy through the house and then back into the barn where Flossie lay in state. He concurred with his fellow clergymen that he couldn’t lead a funeral service for a mule.
As the pastor headed for the barn door, Jebadiah looked down at his faithful companion, stroked her mane and said, “Well, Flossie, I guess I’ll just have to keep that $10 for the preacher.”
The Baptist pastor turned and said, “You should have told me Flossie was a Baptist.”
Animals are sometimes better friends than most folks are. Cats, dogs, fish and birds can all make differences in our lives.
Some folks are cat people — I am not a cat person. Not that I have anything against them. It is just when I am around them I sneeze, itch, scratch, turn blue and eventually die. But if there is a cat anywhere to be found, nine chances out of 10, it is rubbing up against my leg.
When I look at a potential date, one of my first questions is: “Do you like pets?” If they have a dog, I know that I am safe — well sort of. Some of them can leave a permanent impression. I have one of those on my right leg. Boy, old Bugar sure could bite.
Ever since I was a little boy, I have been a dog person. You can do so much more with a dog.
What can cats do anyway? They lay around the house and eat. That is a man’s job isn’t it? Might explain why so many women have cats instead of men. Most women probably want only one animal laying around the house anyway; at least cats don’t talk back.
But dogs, they can hunt, play Frisbee, scare off bad guys. I remember one of my first dogs when I was little, Brutis. I couldn’t have been more than three-feet tall. He was six feet if he was an inch. I am not kidding. He could stand on his hind legs and look my dad in his eyes.
Often my dad would say after supper, “Why don’t you go out and play with Brutis.”
Play with Brutis? That dog played with me. I was like a big, squeaky toy for him.
He had this little game he would play — let’s see how many times we can knock Randall to the ground. He was a good trainer; eventually I learned how to play dead.
I will say this: Brutis was a cultured dog. He had the finest taste in clothing. One time he felt that I was not dressed quite right, he held me down and tore every stitch of clothes off me.
I think it was his way of saying, “My mommy dresses me funny.”
My mother did not care for his fashion advice and he was soon on his way to destination unknown.
I sort of envision him on the defensive line of the Bulldogs. He sure knew how to tackle.
From the comedy recording “Animals are People, Too — Aren’t They?” (Randall Franks/Peach Picked Publishing)

03/17/10

The cowboy way

I have found in recent years with a barren desert emanating from television, I tend to gravitate towards the tried and true westerns that once dominated the film and television screens.As I flip through I know if I come to rest on someone dressed in a cowboy outfit generally with few exceptions, I will find a show I can relax and enjoy. Good will always win and the bad guys will get what they deserve.This is especially true with anything that the Duke may be riding in. For any of those of you under 20, that might not know that nickname, its John Wayne.As America ushered in the 1970s this type of film and television show became harder to find as the trend towards urban settings began.After Clint Eastwood introduced his alternate western hero in “Fistful of Dollars” in 1964 then many of the westerns began to have an uncomfortable edge to them, so I tend to lean towards those shot before these.I was surfing the Internet recently and looking at some of the resources telling about some of the great western stars of the past.As I looked through, I realized that so many of these great performer’s films that could be airing in the mainstream generally are limited to specialty channels.It’s not likely you will find Hopalong Cassidy, Lash LaRue, Tim McCoy and Charles Starrett riding across your TV screens much anymore.There were so many great stars that kept the baby boomers entertained as they went to the theater's matinees growing up and so many others that made television the resting-place for much of the western genre and stars well into the 1970s.By 1974, the western genre on television except for an occasional film was saying goodbye much like it had in theaters 20 years before.I’ll never forget Ken Curtis “Festus” from “Gunsmoke” telling me how the CBS network just simply forgot to put them on the schedule one year, after 25 years, they just simply forgot. Stations got up in arms and had them put back on but it wasn’t long until we said goodbye to those characters that had been part of America’s lives on radio and then on television for more than a quarter century.If you have an interest in the early stars of the western films and have access to the Internet, I suggest you look at The Old Corral website,http://www.surfnetinc.com/chuck/trio.htm.It has a vast amount of resources on all the stars from Buster Crabbe to Bob Livingston, Monte Hale to Tex Ritter.Of course, many of those western stars moved onto the little screen with television shows like Gene Autry and Roy Rogers. Others had their movies repackaged for television and those ran solidly for years to come in syndication.Many of the old shows were no longer airing when I was growing up in the 70s and 80s. Of course “The Lone Ranger” starring Clayton Moore which ended in 1955 was still in syndication, Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Maverick, and some of the other 1960s television sagebrush stories but the old western stars of the matinees were all but gone except in personal appearances at film festivals.I remember sitting in Gene Autry’s office years ago talking with the late western connoisseur and producer Alex Gordon who worked for Gene. We were discussing many of the old stars about which I had knowledge when he mentioned the name of a well-known western producer Pop Sherman. I found myself in the dark largely because by the time I came along the Hopalong Cassidy films that he created were no longer a television staple. When I told him I had a hole in my knowledge about Sherman, I’ll never forget how Alex reacted “That’s a hole as large as the Grand Canyon itself,” he said in his English accent. That is when I realized there was so much more of the western genre that I needed to know about. If you want to know more about Hopalong Cassidy, visit www.hopalong.com.Traveling stage shows such as Tommy Scott’s Country Caravan and Wild West Show where you might have found Tim McCoy doing his whip act or Sunset Carson doing a shooting act there’s more about this at the Old Corral website.While some have tried to recreate the western magic in modern day such as the show “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman,” it wasn’t quite the same.I visited the set of Dr. Quinn during its second season and walked down the old western street, through the indian village and the military camp. I longed to slip into my western garb and step back in time but in this instance that opportunity did not arise and I was simply able to watch Jane Seymour, Chad Allen and the other actors as they created a different time and place for their audience.There are a few places were you can still hear the music and see the memories such as at the Roy Rogers-Dale Evans Museum and Theater in Branson.
My old friend Roy “Dusty” Rogers Jr. and his High Riders do shows there that are both entertaining and nostalgic for anyone who loves the westerns and especially the heritage of the great Roy Rogers. For more information visit www.royrogers.com.
As my old friend Roy Rogers (Sr.) said on our final visit, “Tell all the folks back home I said “Howdeeeeeee!!!”

03/03/10

What is honor?

How does one acquire it? Is honor a cloak that you can put on and take off at will?

I would say that honor is something that you build in your character over time beginning in childhood, much like putting on layers of clothes in the winter to stay warm. As the layers build upon your shoulders, you find yourself warm and comfortable and ready to face all the world throws at you.

Webster defines honor with a list of terms, including: respectful regard, esteem, worship, reputation, exalted rank, fame, magnanimity, scorn of meanness, self-respect, chastity, an outward mark of high esteem and glory.

Through the Congressional Medal of Honor, our country pays tribute to our soldiers who show the greatest valor in action against an enemy force.

There is a proverb, which says, “Ease and honor are seldom bedfellows.”

With that in mind, the everyday things that we face often take some difficult choices to keep those layers we accumulate in place.

I believe that there are many honorable people left in this world, although at time I do wonder why they are becoming harder to find.

Many people who you might expect to be cloaked in years of learning how to do the honorable thing can at times find the weight of the layers a difficult load to bear. As the temperature rises from the heat of the world, for some, they begin to toss the layers aside to ease the condition, sooth their feelings or suit their personal needs.

It was poet Nicholas Boileau who said, “Honor is like an island, rugged and without a beach; once we have left it, we can never return.”

I tend to agree — once you begin to throw off the layers you have earned, you are on the road to no longer being an honorable person. Unfortunately, in life we find these in every walk of life. It is difficult to tell at times when someone is fully cloaked in honor or casting off his garments. Of course, there are many who simply never bothered to get dressed at all.

To describe those who truly have honor, I lean towards the words of Scott O’ Grady: “It wasn't the reward that mattered or the recognition you might harvest. It was your depth of commitment, your quality of service, the product of your devotion — these were the things that counted in a life. When you gave purely, the honor came in the giving, and that was honor enough.”
If you continue layering on the fabrics of honor, by giving to your community, by helping others, by simply doing the right thing when faced with the choice that could try your soul, you are a better person for it. And because of that the world that we live in will be a better place for all of us.

02/24/10

As cold as I can remember on one side
 
It was already the dark of the night when I went out to the woodpile and gathered as many pieces of wood as my little arms would hold. I tried to get into the back door but could not manage to figure out how to turn the tarnished brass doorknob while keeping my load.
It was freezing outside, and it was not much warmer inside. I scrambled at the door long enough to see my breath fogging up the panes of glass in the door.
Perhaps that is what Grandma noticed as she opened the door and said, “Get in here boy before you freeze to death.”
“Yesum,” I said as I rushed through the kitchen into the darkened living room. There sitting about three feet from the wall was a pot-bellied stove on a large piece of metal on the floor.
I was in kindergarten when my Grandma Kitty moved to a smaller farm in a rural area outside Dayton, Tenn. This was our first winter visit at the old four-room house.
She was much closer to town and her brothers and sisters than before, but still the move wasn’t as joyous as one might think.
She left behind the place she and Grandpa had called home and raised their family. A homestead where our family had lived since the first family member that crossed the mountains in his coonskin cap with a musket in hand looked out and said "this will be home."
As a boy I cherished any attention that my grandmother gave me. On the rarest occasion her cracked tan skin tightened revealing a smile that could wake up the sun. I knew in those moments that she had found something within her soul that reached up and shook her from beneath the 70 years of struggle, pain, and loss that seem to blanket her in those days after she said goodbye to Grandpa Bill.
I still remember hearing Aunt Duck saying as I dropped the wood in the box next to the stove – “Randy did a good job. Didn’t he do a good job.”
I looked over my shoulder to see my grandmother leaning now in the doorway between the living room and her and Aunt Duck’s bedroom. The pale blue curtain that separated the rooms draped over her shoulder accenting the glimmer in her eyes as my mother opened the stove door and placed a log inside. Although it slipped away quickly like the heat gained on your warm side once turned from the stove, for a moment, on her wearied face was a smile.
I don’t know if it was having a little one trying to make his way in her world that drew her out or if in the flame of the stove she saw remnants of a memory in which she lost herself.
But for that moment, it was what I needed to see before crawling under 30 pounds of quilts in the back room bed and watching my breath rise above me. Once there, I moved my little legs side to side trying to warm the bed only to feel colder while all the time praying that I would not have a need to run to the outhouse.

02/17/10

Climbing the ladder of success –
The Watkins Family

Like the finely cut pattern of a patchwork quilt created with the love passed from generation to generation through the mountains of Northeast Georgia, the music of the Watkins Family is a culmination of many threads sown together note by note, song by song, and scripture by scripture, shared from mother to daughter and father to son.

 That love shines through in the group’s latest CD “Heaven’s Worth Waiting For.” The project was produced by Grammy nominee Karen Peck Gooch, Danny Jones and Grammy winner Mark Fain and features a fine combination of new songs and some standards that any listener of bluegrass gospel will enjoy.

The 2009 Impact Award nominee includes matriarch Judy Watkins and her three adult children Todd, Lorie and Shanon and musician Jonathan Maness.

Through its history, the group has charted several songs in various publications but for Southern gospel artists the true mark of radio recognition is an appearance on the Singing News charts.

The family marks their first appearance in that chart with their single “She’s Working on Her Testimony,” penned by Greg Day and Sheri LaFontaine, beginning with an entry at 75 followed by a 20-step jump to 55 in just one month.

Shanon is the feature vocalist on their new chart song and she said she is excited that the public and radio is accepting the message of the song with open arms. She performs on the bass and fiddle.

While one might think there is some sibling rivalry over which one in the family is the featured singer currently climbing the charts, they each say there is not.

“We are all in this together, musically, vocally and most of all in our dedication to sharing God’s message through the music,” Lorie said. “This project is one of the most exciting recordings we have ever done. All of the family is featured on the new CD on songs which reflect their vocal character.”

Lorie was nominated twice as Female Vocalist of the Year in the Front Porch Fellowship Bluegrass Gospel Music Awards hosted at the National Quartet Convention. She appeared in the NQC All-Star Band in 2008 and 2009 and plays banjo, mandolin and guitar on stage.

Judy said she feels blessed by the success their group is now seeing.

“I know that God is using what we are doing to reach hearts for Him,” she said.

She and her late husband Don guided the group from its 1982 inception by sharing generations of music and faith with their children.

“My aunts and uncles played various instruments,” she said. “Uncle Ray Rumsey was an evangelist. Watson Rumsey was a choir director and he played accordion. Grandma played the banjo and guitar and she played the piano at church until she died at 92.”

Their musical spirit filled her soul, she said.

Whether on stage at a small country church or in front of thousands at National Quartet Convention, the harmonies raise spirits and hopes of the life to be lead as servants of Christ.

Both Lori and Shanon hold associates degrees in education. Lorie is also a certified fitness trainer.

Their brother Todd holds two college degrees including bachelor’s degrees in marketing and management.

His forte besides of being proficiency on guitar, resonator guitar, and bass, and singing numerous parts is tooling the sound heard through the group’s equipment to the highest level of perfection.

“It’s been proven audiences will look at ugly people but the won’t listen to bad sound,” Todd said.

Judy shares that Todd’s charisma endears him to the audience.

“Grandma’s just love Todd,” she said.

Last year they added the talents of multi-instrumentalist Jonathan Maness of Knoxville, who previously appeared with Valerie Smith and Liberty Pike, the Dixie-Beeliners and Young Harmony.

“Jonathan has a positive up-beat attitude that adds to his many talents,” Lorie said. “His addition gives us the ability to present to our audiences a fuller, richer, and broader sound in our performances.”

Their latest CD also includes songs such as “Love that Wouldn’t Let Go,” “She Found Jesus Alive,” “Sometimes You Gotta Rock the Boat” and “Peace in the Valley.” I encourage you to visit their website and find our more about this CD and when they may be in your area. Also call your local Southern gospel or bluegrass radio station and request “She’s Working on Her Testimony.”

For more information, visit www.watkinsfamilymusic.com.


02/10/10

Ups and downs of dating
 
Can you remember your first love? How your heart raced? How excited you were to see the other person?
I remember mine like it was yesterday. I fell off the monkey bars, which were actually the steel handrails that went along the steps outside the school. She came over and helped me up. After I brushed myself off, she pushed me back down again. It was love right then and there.
She played Mary to my Joseph in the Christmas pageant. I always heard that actors fall in love with their leading ladies. I just did not realize it began at the age of five.
Julie Badger also became my first date. Now, I do not mean play date. I mean first official date. I asked her if she wanted to go to the Shrine Circus with me. With her parents permission, she agreed. After I couldn’t convince my parents to let me drive, they agreed to chaperone and chauffeur the adventure.
The Shrine Circus was a perfect choice for a first date. We had hot-buttered popcorn, red candy apples and seats so close you could reach out and almost touch the elephants. You could certainly smell them. We were mesmerized by the acts and amused by the clowns.
I could see I had won her over with my choice of destinations.
We were both appropriately dressed. I was wearing my blue suit. She had on a beautiful dress. With our balloons and our Shrine’s hats, the ensembles were complete.
Yes, it was plain to see that my road to dating was going to be a smooth ride.
The next day, I once again fell off the monkey bars. She came over to help me up and again she pushed me down. Yes, I had won her heart.
Julie and I were great friends throughout kindergarten. Then we went off to different elementary schools. While the separation ended our early courtship, our paths would cross at the public pool. Her friends would always kid her when I came around because they remembered that I was sweet on her back then. I guess I still was.
We never went out again. In fact, it would be many years until I once again leaped out into the dating world.
But you know, through the years I have found it is not that much different. The same feelings are there. In the beginning, dates seem to lift you right up off the ground.
They just wait a little longer to push you back to the ground again.

02/03/10

A night of darkness
 
As the sun crossed over the Gravelly Spur Mountain that day in 1934, no one expected the night to come. The fragrance of honeysuckles skipped lightly across the breeze that cooled the sun’s fury.
Just like any other summer night the family gathered on the porch. Grandma Kitty sat in her blue housedress trimmed with white flowers. She was tuckered from a full day of cooking, cleaning and corralling young ’uns. She sat looking off towards the Gravelly Spur, waving a fan from Magilacuty Funeral Home with a peaceful scene of John baptizing Jesus upon it.
Beneath the steps of the old porch, the boys sat around a drawn circle in the dirt playing marbles and irritating the doodlebugs.
Pearl and a couple of the other girls sat on the porch swing, one with a book, the other two with their dolls.
As she jumped from the swing and rushed towards her mother, Pearl was clutching her only doll — a constant companion she called Emma, a little blonde doll in a woven basket given to her two Christmases earlier by the Rev. Ben Smathers.
“When’s Dad coming home?” she asked.
“He’s off hunting across the mountain. He’ll probably be back tomorrow,” she said.
Not quite satisfied, she asked, “What time will daddy be home?”
“Aw, honey only God and your Dad knows that. Why don’t you run in the house and bring me my sewing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said as she scooted off like a shot banging the wire screen door behind her.
The family continued its routine until the darkness enveloped the house like milk over morning cereal and they retired to the front room to listen to the Zenith radio for a while.
As Jack Benny and Rochester eased the stresses of the day laughter permeated through the house. As the show went off the air Grandma Kitty stepped up from her chair and said, “OK everyone, it’s time for bed.”
She heard the usual complaints about it being too early, but as she stepped a couple of feet toward her broom in the corner all the sounds faded and little legs quickly moved toward their covers.
Only Kitty did not head to her bed; instead after making sure all were tucked in safe she walked to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and placed her revolver on the table from her apron pocket.
Early that day while hanging laundry, Kitty had noticed some drifters riding along the rim of the Gravely Spur, scanning over the valley below. She feared that they might have some intention of paying late night calls upon the local farmers, and she did not want to take any chances about fading off into sleep.
She checked the chamber of the revolver to make sure it was loaded and then sat quietly at the kitchen table sipping coffee and repairing the heels of socks.
As the hour pushed towards one, she sat dozing in her chair when she was startled by the sound of footsteps on the back porch.
She collected herself, picked up the pistol and stood facing the back door.
“Who’s there?” she cried.
There was no answer.
“If there is a friend on the porch you best be calling out because if you don’t I am going to shoot,” she said.
Still no answer.
As the footsteps stopped, seemingly at the door Kitty was true to her word; she let the lead fly through the back door.
The commotion woke up the house and the children came running.
“What’s happening Mama?” Pearl said.
“You children get back to bed, there was just some old varmint on the back porch. I had to scare him off,” she said.
As the children unwillingly moved back towards rest, she returned and peeped out the holes she had made in the door to see if anything was moving outside. She saw nothing moving but decided to wait until light to investigate further.
She filled her coffee cup again, sat back at the table, reloaded her pistol and returned to her sewing. There she sat for the next five and half hours alert and listening.
As dawn broke, with her pistol in hand she unbolted the back door and walked onto the porch.
There was no one there, no body. She wondered briefly if her imagination had maybe run away from her and then she saw the drop of blood beside her foot. As she looked more closely there was a trail of blood leading off the porch and across the yard.
She followed the trail until it reached the edge of Wilson Woods. There it seemed to end and some horse tracks began. She decided that whomever it was had rode away into the night, and she decided to go about her business.
She went toward the house, tucked the pistol in her apron, drew a bucket of water from the well and used it to wash the blood from the porch.
She picked up her gathering basket and headed toward the hen house to gather some eggs for breakfast.
By the time the children were up, she had the biscuits baked, bacon fried, the eggs scrambled and a fresh jar of strawberry preserves she made last year opened.
The meal was half eaten as Granddad Bill walked in the door. All the children ran to him to welcome him home. He walked over to kiss Kitty and give her a hug.
“How is everything?” he asked.
“Fine, just fine,” she said.
They all sat down, finished breakfast and began another day below the Gravely Spur.

01/27/10

Crowe Brothers raise the bar for harmony
 
Years ago I sat at a light table designing the album cover for an upcoming record release for two friends Josh and Wayne Crowe. Designing album covers was just another one of my many career facets that allowed me to come to know a lot of great performers by freelancing for their record companies.
There were specific acts that drew people to the concert stage when I was traveling full-time on the bluegrass circuit. When I reflect on my long-standing musical friendships – these are two individuals who found a unique niche back then for their talents. They drew…. especially alongside their initial employer banjo stylist Raymond Fairchild.
They now have brought together that sound once again in a new exciting CD and are traveling nationwide to bluegrass festivals and other venues.
I had the pleasure of visiting with them at IBMA World of Bluegrass in Nashville where Josh told me that they were enthusiastic about returning to the road again sharing their show.
“This project took on a mind of its own,” Josh said. “I feel like we made a real good move working with Rural Rhythm. It’s opened a lot doors and got us a lot publicity.”
The Crowe Brothers sound is blessed with the uniqueness of polished sibling vocal talents that can be heard on a song such as “Cindy Mae.” That single appeared in Cashbox charts in 2009 and was number one on Sirius XM radio.
Josh said he really enjoyed creating some recordings which reflected the Wilburn Brothers sound including “Which One to Blame” and “Go Away with Me.”
With musical predecessors such as the Blue Sky Boys, Louvin Brothers, Jim and Jesse and others, they are now simply infusing a tradition of brother duets with new a vibrant energy. Adding new material such as “Million For a Broken Heart” and “Take Me By the Hand” to classics.
Their innovative respect to those who came before along with their vision for a future for their niche can be heard distinctively in their new Rural Rhythm CD “Brothers n Harmony.”
As one of the biggest Jim and Jesse fans I am sure in history, the sound of a brother duet always pulls me towards a stage or a radio speaker. The Crowes accomplish that same pulling power for me. Their sound should draw any serious listener of traditional bluegrass and gospel music.
Listening to songs such as “Are You Teasing Me?,” I can envision the Crowes as youngsters listening to Ira and Charlie Louvin. Charlie even wrote some complimentary liner notes for the project.
This collection of material is perfectly complimented by their vocals and the tasteful musical arrangements simply add to the fervor of elation as each song flows by.
A couple of my personal favorites “I Know that I Am Saved,” and the Dan Seals song “God Must Be a Cowboy.”
Among the tremendous talents adding to their singing and musical talents are fiddler Steve Thomas, banjo stylist Steve Sutton, Darren Nicholson on mandolin, Randy Kohrs on Dobro and lap steel, and Shawn Apple on percussion.
Special guest appearances were made by banjo stylist Don Wayne Reno on “Better Luck Next Time;” mandolinist Ronnie McCoury on “Country Boy Rock n Roll;” and pianist Buck White on “Million for a Broken Heart.”
Josh told another project is already in the works.
I have to say buying and listening to this CD is something I would encourage anyone to do…… This summer you can also catch The Crowe Brothers for Thursday night concerts at the Stompin’ Ground in Maggie Valley, NC at 8 p.m.
For more information, visit www.crowebrothers.com or www.ruralrhythm.com.

01/20/10

Carolina Cotton is still hitting the high notes
 
          If you grew up sitting in Saturday matinees watching the cowboys riding across the screen to save the day, then you probably remember one of the most prolific of the female leads of western film.
        The late Arkansas native Carolina Cotton (1925-1997) was also known for her beautiful singing voice and her yodeling, and in film, TV, radio, records and on stages around the country she was a favorite. Of course, this was the days when there were only two types of music – Western and Hillbilly. She was certainly one of the queens of Western Swing and that is evidenced in the new CD “Carolina Cotton: Yodeling Blonde Bombshell Volume 2” released by Kit Fox Records at carolinacotton.org.
        Her talented daughter Sharon Marie is doing tremendous work in keeping her late mother’s contributions to all the fields where she shined in front of those who loved her. 
        Her energy on screen was contagious especially when she was singing one of her yodeling songs in Gene Autry movies such as “Apache Country." She also did several films with my friends the late Ken Curtis (“Song of the Prairie,” “Stallion Canyon”), the late Roy Acuff (“Sing Neighbor Sing”). Other films co-starred actors such as Eddy Arnold, Charles Starrett, Smiley Burnette and others.
        In the span of a just a few years she did 22 films and performed with some of the most influential bands in the Hillbilly and Western Swing genre including Spade Cooley’s Western Dance Gang, Merle Travis, Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys, Sons of the Pioneers, Ernest Tubb and the Texas Troubadours, Ramblin’ Tommy Scott and his Hollywood Hillbilly Jamboree and others.
        This unique collection of 21 recordings spans performances from 1945 to 1958 and includes Carolina starring with these back up performers: Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys, the Deuce Spriggens Orchestra, Hank Penny Orchestra, Foy Willing and the Riders of the Purple Sage, Merle Travis, Andy Parker and the Plainsmen, The Rhythm Riders, The Saddle Kings, Tex Williams, The Broome Brothers, Scotty Harrell, Paul Sells and others.
        If you have any appreciation for the sound of swing, especially Western swing, this will be a CD that will add beautifully to your listening pleasure. These performers are all at the top of their game, entertaining, and sharing their heart with their listeners.
        She relocated with her family from Arkansas to California. She began her career on stage and then radio in San Francisco at an early age but soon found her way to Hollywood where film producers immediately recognized her talent and she soon rose to level of leading lady.
        Some of the material on this CD comes from original acetates such as “Ragtime Cowboy Joe” featuring Carolina with the Deuce Spriggens Orchestra. Many of the songs are taken from radio transcriptions especially the wonderful collection from her Armed Forces Radio Show “Carolina Cotton Calls.” It offers a unique look into Carolina’s stage personality as she jokes with her cast and wide range of material performed the troops in Korea and the Far East.
       She shares one of her signatures “Three Miles South of Cash (in Arkansas)” with the Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys and to the swing sounds “Lovin’ Ducky Daddy” for MGM Records.
       Of course, while her yodeling skills add to several songs, “Yodel Mountain” with Foy Willing and the Riders of the Purple Sage from the AFRS Ranch House Party and “Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone” performed in the 1950 movie “Hoedown” highlights how she received her nickname. She also really shines in the live recording Autry-Rose composition “Be Honest with Me.”
      Sadly, like many of their male counterparts by the end of 1950s the days of the old west for female leading ladies also rode off into the sunset in film and for most practical purposes mainstream western music stars were in the wagon train behind them.
      Carolina left the spotlight of stardom, raised her family and become a teacher sharing her love of learning with thousands of young people.
      If you are a fan of the great sounds of Western music that made the matinees and radio shows of the 1940s and 50s full of fun and enthusiasm, I encourage you to add this CD to your collection, it will certainly give you a look at one of the greatest yodelers who ever performed and from someone I understand to be one of the nicest individuals to ever grace a stage. You can get the CD or learn much more about her career from carolinacotton.org.

01/13/10

Blue Ridge Mountain Memories with The Marksmen Quartet

What happens when you take 43 years singing and music experience and mix 20 of the most notable hymns of the church and some new material – you get the Marksmen Quartet’s latest CD “Blue Ridge Mountain Memories” from Rural Rhythm.

It was 1967 when Southern gospel quartet leader Earle Wheeler gave his then young group a new name that has now brought him to successes in the genres of Southern, bluegrass and country gospel.

The group adds a nomination for 2010 Contemporary Gospel Group of the Year for the Society for the Preservation of Bluegrass Music of America to be awarded in Nashville this February.

“Came Out of the Wilderness,” “Kneel at the Cross,”  “Angel Band” are some of the recordings which features Earle’s solid lead vocals.

His singing ministry began when he was just 14 years old at Wahoo Baptist Church in Murrayville, Ga. when he sang solos and with a quartet at the church. His father the Rev. Dr. Marvin Wheeler served as pastor at Wahoo Baptist Church. Although he remembers making his debut at the age of four for his grandfather J.O. Gilstrap in the Methodist Church.

“When I was a boy Robert Hefner had a bluegrass gospel quartet and use to practice in my parent’s living room,” Earle said. “Robert was my hero.”

Along with Hefner were Dean and Marie Bence playing guitar and mandolin and Lester Cantrell on upright bass. The Bences also appeared with WSM Barndance host Cotton Carrier.

It was from this group that Wheeler gained his love of singing and in 1961 when he embarked on a career of his own; it was with his hero Robert Hefner at his side. The Gospel Hearts featuring Earle Wheeler (lead), Robert Hefner (baritone), Lloyd O’Kelly (tenor), and Little Roy Abee Jr. playing piano joined the elite of gospel music as they toured from Ohio to Florida, South Carolina to Alabama.

“We worked date after date with Chuck Wagon Gang, Oak Ridge Quartet, appeared with the Kingsmen, The LeFevres,” Earle said.

Earle said he studied under the classic groups of the 1950s and shared his insights that he gained early with the group’s singers through the years.

“Whether it’s properly using one’s voice, proper enunciation for harmony, but most of all for me, I have worked for so many years to keep a consistent sound distinctive to what we are doing,” he said.

A lot of that has been assisted with very minor turnover in the group especially since the early 1980s when Earle made the musical switch to the mountain sounds that he was raised around near his home of Murrayville, Ga. 

The Blue Ridge Quartet, Wendy Bagwell and Sunliters, the Harmoneers were some of the other acts that shared the stage with Earle’s Gospel Hearts.

“Happy Edwards of the Harmoneers use to carry Mark (Wheeler, Earle’s son) around and get him to sing,” Earle said. “Happy said ‘I’d make a million dollars if this boy was mine.’”

Earle’s son evangelist Mark Wheeler helps lead the group while maintaining a preaching schedule as well. He sings baritone, lead and plays guitar.

Several of the songs on the album are from his pen including their number one song “Love Letters in the Sand” which he co-wrote the Rev. Willard Thomas.

“The Sun Didn’t Shine” is a black spiritual which beckons back to the spirituals of the

Suwanee River Boys, which could have walked right out of the 1940s.

“This is the first time I have been able to bring this five-man harmony together to reflect the original sound from the Golden Gate Quartet of the 1930s,” Mark said. “I was really excited we were able to capture this level of performance for one of my all-time favorite songs.”

Songs such as “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” feature the rich bass voice of long time group member Darrin Chambers. He is actually another second-generation member of the group beginning beside his father and former group tenor Keith Chambers as a teen. He sings bass, plays Dobro and bass.

“Just a Rose Will Do” highlights the sweet tenor talents of mandolinist Davey Waller who joined the group several years ago.

Mark Autry performs bass and sings selections such as “What a Friend.”

Appearances were also made by former Marksmen Keith Chambers and Tommy Dutton; banjo players Barry Abernathy, Mike Tucker, and Josh Hicks; and fiddler Jim Van Cleve.

Mark said their sound is “just mountain gospel music.”

“It has been done this way for more than hundred years in these hills at the little old white churches at found at the head of many mountain hollers,” he said.

Blue Ridge Mountain Memories is available from Books a Million, Amazon.com, www.ruralrhythm.com and other locations.

To learn more about The Marksmen Quartet visit marksmenquartet.com.

Bonus:
This is one of my favorite columns highlighting the adventure of a traveling musician

Don’t cry in your Crush

Spending most of my life on the road as a performer, I have become very accustomed to the rigors of traveling. One thing you tolerate but never get adjusted to are the close quarters you and up to five or six other musicians share while on the road. It takes a tremendous amount of respect and consideration for people to make such a situation livable, especially if you are not related.

Course if your related, it probably takes more.

If you are blessed with the benefit of traveling by bus, you at least have the luxury of getting up and walking the aisles from time to time. You almost get a rhythm of knowing how to shift your weight to keep from falling down. You do, however, have to make your departure from the bus known. If you happen to get off at a 76 truck stop in rural Idaho at 2 a.m. to get a bottle of pop, you may be crying in your grape Crush when you see those taillights in the distance and you’re standing there in your sock feet.

While working with Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys, I believe I learned every way to sleep on a moving bus — standing up, sitting down, laying down and standing on my head. One way I never tried was related to me during my tenure with the multi-award winning southern gospel quartet The Marksmen. One of their early members would sleep face down in the bunk. Arms folded, head on arms, face down in the bunk.

Why?

He would fix his hair before leaving for the weekend. Then he would sleep that way to keep his hair looking just right. Apparently it works.

Late at night while traveling with Monroe, I would walk down the aisle and sit down on the carpeted step as he rode shotgun in the jumper seat which folded out in the door opening. He would often reminisce about his 60 years of traveling, or he would sit quietly in his La-Z-Boy recliner, and we would pass the miles by playing gin rummy. He was hard to beat, but I did a time or two.

No matter who you travel with, if you spend enough time together, eventually you will feel the sting of a practical joke.

Now, I’m not talking about anything mean or malicious, just friendly little jokes which did not hurt anyone.

While traveling with Monroe, our lead singer, Wayne Lewis, was what you might call a bit jumpy. He didn’t like folks coming up and surprising him from behind. One time, when we played Fort Collins, Colo., we stayed in adjacent rooms on about the eighth floor. Since it was a warm winter’s day, the windows were open. There was about a 20-inch ledge outside the two open windows, and in my youthful fervor, I decided to step out and try to startle him through the open window. Conveniently, he had his back to the window. When I stood outside his window and said “boo!,” he almost jumped out of his skin.

Of course, he got me back.

While traveling with the Marksmen, sometimes we traveled by bus, sometimes by van with a trailer.

Traveling by van with five or six people is just like AT&T, you can reach out and touch someone whether you want to or not. Like the bus, the van was converted with four sleeping bunks. One time I crawled up in the bunk to get a little sleep while we were traveling. I think it was to a little town in Texas. Now in this case, I was in a top bunk, it was sort of like crawling up into a well upholstered sardine can with about 10 inches between you and the ceiling. You could not sit up; you just had to roll off. Despite the tight space, it was very comfortable. While I was out of it, my compadres quietly had something up their sleeves. It wasn’t the conventional shaving cream in the shoe kind of thing either. This took some pre-planning on someone’s part.

While I was sleeping soundly, we arrived at the venue grounds. When I awoke, I found myself tied with a rope to the bunk from head to toe. I could not have moved if I wanted too. And let me just say I did want too; it had been a long trip. There wasn’t a soul around. I had hoped to free myself with a Buck hunting knife kept under the pillow, but unfortunately, the trusted knife had cut out on me too.

I sort of figure Rob Gillentine and Mark Wheeler were the culprits, or at least they seemed to get the greatest joy out of my predicament.

01/06/10

Reaching back to push forward

Life is something that we should cherish with every passing breath. Often times we do not appreciate the simplest things like the feel of cool breeze on a hot summer day; the taste of a fresh glass of homemade lemonade so cold that the outside of the glass drips; the deep red color of a vine-ripened tomato as its thinly sliced for a tomato sandwich slightly smeared with JFG mayonnaise.
I am pondering the common ground between the generations of Americans that now bind us as a people. At one time it was our country’s deep agricultural heritage, the connection to the soil and what through sweat and hard work it could provide for both the sustenance and financial gain of the family. Military service in war after war, generation after generation which itself found its origins and its battles in the farm and pasturelands that was the battles were fought upon.
Generations of Americans even those that lived in the cities, depended upon family farms to provide what our country needed to survive. In my lifetime, we have seen farming shift to larger business concerns and several generations of individuals never walked behind a plow or rode upon a tractor. They didn’t grow up on the farm or even spend days helping their grandparents haul hay, cut okra, pick tomatoes, pull corn, put up cans and churn butter.
So what does this mean for the future of our country, for the preservation of our lifestyle and the heritage of our communities? Are we destined to one-day build museums dedicated to the preservation of subdivisions and shopping malls? What values of history are we giving the latest generation? Will they look back at a tractor and ask, “What’s that?” Or better yet not know that those chicken nuggets you buy at those fast food restaurants actually come from chickens.
With generations of Americans who have little or no practical daily connection to the land, how will they sustain themselves in an emergency? What happens when milk can no longer be sent from the far off mega-farms of the west? I bet there aren’t many households that have shelves lined with canned goods enough to get the family through to the next growing season, as was my parent’s and grandparent’s custom. What will happen to a generation if there is no way to move food from place to place?
During the worst period in this country’s history, the Great Depression, even the poorest farmer, who was not devastated by natural disasters such as the dust storms, had some amount of food to eat. Thousands of people who lived in the cities were able to receive food in soup lines because many farmers were able to keep working the land and caring people were willing to help those in need. They all had a connection to the land.
If our state, our county, our community was totally cut off from the outside world could we survive? Do we have a plan in place to feed and meet the needs of our population? Could we create the items needed for day-to-day life? Do we have the people who have the knowledge to do that?
It will take a joint effort at a local level, community to community, neighbor to neighbor, to see that each family or person makes it through in any emergency situation.
Will America ever face some catastrophe that will throw us backwards in time wishing that we had a few acres to plant potatoes and a milk cow to provide some milk and a horse to ride to town?
I don’t know but even if it didn’t, it probably wouldn’t hurt if everybody knew how to dig taters, which part of the cow the milk comes from and how to get it to come out. By the way, just how do you get the key in a horse’s ignition and more important where are the brakes on one of them things. Just kidding, of course I know where the brakes are… Whoa, Nelly.
Do I have the answers as to what the future will be like, of course not, that is only in the Hands of God. Do I have a hope as to what I would like it to be? I certainly do.
I see an America that is covered with strong communities of caring and loving individuals who give their neighbors a helping hand when it is needed. They go out of their way to help pick up a man when he is down, brush him off and help him along life’s road.
I see an America where greed and crime is something that exists only in the minds of creative novelists and film directors instead of the eyes our fellow man. I see an America where you make choices that are good for all the people not just a chosen few. I see an America where when a leader actually stands up and says something he or she actually believes it rather than assuming it is what the public needs or wants to hear. I see an America where his or her words of inspiration can actually mobilize this country towards a common good of creating a world that will be something our future generations can build from rather than have to pay for.
I see an America where each community is capable of standing on its own using the talents of its citizenry and the abilities of its businesses and industries no matter what the country as a whole may have to withstand in its future.
My friends the future of America is up to each one of us, its not just the job of people in Washington, DC, the state capital, the county seat, or even the guy next door or the woman down the street, it takes each of us working every single day improving our community as a whole by stepping outside our comfort zones and reaching out to make a difference.
It is up to us to have our own lives prepared for emergencies and to work with our local leaders to make sure that plans are in place. It is only through preparation that we as individuals or communities can reach out and help others, secure in the knowledge that our own families and communities are safe and adequate supplies are available to meet the needs at home.
Will this generation and those that follow be less because they are further removed from America’s rural roots? I think as long as our society continues to head in the same direction, each generation will make their way but it’s the ‘what ifs’ that sometime worry me and make me ever thankful that God is in control. He expects all of us to do our part though. Perhaps getting closer to an understanding that the role farming plays in our lives and making sure that that the local family farmers never vanish from our history might be one way we can improve our little corner of the world. 
 

12/30/09

News Year’s blessings

It was a blustery cold morning as Kitty and her young daughter Pearl began their walk over to Maudie Pearson’s house. They carried tins full of green collards, black-eyed peas and hamhocks and some cornbread.
“This seems like an odd meal to take Miss Maudie,” Pearl said.
“It’s News Year’s Day fixin’s,” Kitty said.
“If she eats these she will have all the luck and money she needs in the next year,” Kitty said.
As they walked across the field to the tenant shack where eighty-year-old Maudie lived, their steps barely marked the frozen ground which months before would have allowed them to sink a foot deep with each step.
Kitty’s walk was long and gated since she carried the extra weight of another family member inside her.
“Momma, when will the new baby come,” Pearl asked.
“When its ready,” she said. “I feel it should come any day now.”
Maudie welcomed them at the door and asked them to sit a spell.
“You folks sure surprised me coming on such a cold day,” Maudie said.
“I knew you wouldn’t feel up to cookin’ much, so we wanted to bring you blessings for the New Year,” Kitty said.
“And it looks like you will have a new blessing soon,” Maudie said as she placed her hand on Kitty’s belly.
The threesome sat near the warm fire and shared some hot cider as Maudie showed off a quilt top she was working diligently to finish.
Kitty said they best be getting back.
“The men folk will be home from hunting soon, and they might think we run off,” she said.
Kitty and Pearl took small steps on the way back. Kitty’s pace became slower and slower as she fell on her knees to the ground.
The pain doubled her over.
“Momma,” Pearl called to her, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s time,” Kitty exclaimed.
“What do I do?” Pearl asked.
“Help me and let’s get back to Maudie’s,” she said.
Pearl helped her up, and the duo made their way back to the tenant house.
Maudie said, “Land sakes I knew it would not be long.”
She helped her into the bed and told Pearl to fetch some water from the well and put it in the fire to boil.
Pearl did, and then she placed a damp cloth on Kitty’s head to ease the sweat rolling from her brow. Every few moments intense pain brought Kitty’s shrill scream of agony.
“What can we do?” Pearl said.
“We are doing all we can; the rest is up to God and the little one,” Maudie said.
After a while the screaming stopped, the pain subsided, and in Maudie’s arms was a brand new baby boy.
“Well it looks like the blessings of the New Year have arrived,” Maudie said.
Maudie reached over, picked up the new quilt she was making and wrapped the boy inside, laying him beside Kitty.
“He’ll get it a little early,” she said. “I was hoping to finish it before he came. I’ll do the rest a little later. He needs it more now.”
As the little baby looked up at Maudie and smiled, a shared grin was passed to Kitty and Pearl.
Kitty looked at Pearl and said, “Sharing blessings goes a long ways, little one. Just look what a few greens, peas and cornbread gave to us today.” 

 12/23/09
Christmas morning with the kin

All the kinfolk are gatherin’ around the icicle-strewn Douglas fir tree shaking and rattlin' trying to guess what is in the presents they are soon to open. I remember waking to the smell of bacon frying Christmas morning. As I rushed into the living room, the tree would sparkle with what seemed like a thousand stars. I just knew that I caught a glimpse of Santa as the jolly old elf was moving about the house the night before.
There were so many beautifully wrapped red, green, silver and gold packages that my mother carefully placed under the tree, only to see all her handiwork destroyed in a matter of minutes Christmas morning.