Opinions
08/07/02
The True Citizen
P.O.Box 948
Waynesboro, GA 30830
(706) 554-2111
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one Nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Harold
Rowland
Heat
Wave
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“You aren’t going to play golf in this heat?” One day I countered with a question. “How old are you?” Well, of course I knew. But I continued with, “All these years you have lived in Georgia, except for a few in Texas, and every year in July and August the thermometer bubbled up near 100°. So why are you complaining now?” That went over big.
We moved to Texas to attend graduate school. We moved in July. For 30 straight days the temperature was 110°. We didn’t see a drop of rain until Labor Day. Then came a horned toad strangler. Hot and dry is nothing new. One old Texan told me he was riding on the train looking out the window. He saw a coyote chasing a jackrabbit and he swears they were both walking.
I don’t know whether he was telling the gospel truth or just giving way to the Texas tendency to exaggerate. But he said one day during a dust storm he saw a jackrabbit digging a hold 20 feet in the air.
A lady from West Texas was visiting her children in East Texas. They went to church on Sunday. After the service she walked out the door and a drop of rain hit her on the head. They had to throw a bucket of sand in her face to revive her.
As a young preacher I started out in country churches before AC. The prosperous churches had big attic fans over the door to suck the hot air over the sweating congregation. The varnish on the pews would get tacky and your clothes would stick to it. Perspiration would soak through a coat and make the seat of your pants look like you had an accident. Gnats were swatted with funeral home fans, but the preacher was handicapped. It was impossible to persecute the saints and swat the gnats simultaneously. The result was gnats getting sucked into his mouth when he inhaled.
We had baptism at the end of the revival, which was always held the second week in July. That was laying by time so the farmers were free to attend. The sacred washing was held in Blue Jay Springs. The hot weather made the cold water almost frigid. You could hear the sudden intake of breath as each candidate stepped into the icy flow.
Watermelons ripened in the summer. We would walk through the field bursting melons and eating the warm heart. Watermelon has never been as good since.
So relax. Global warming hasn’t made a whole lot of progress in my seven decades. As for the drought, a Texan confided that his community got two inches of rain when Noah floated his ark.
A Sound Investment
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My mom
came for a visit last weekend, partly to celebrate her birthday and partly
to spend a day in Waynesboro. She wanted to take her time and ride around
town to see how much things had really changed in the 30 years since she left
to go to college.
We started out our morning at the Liberty Square Farmers’ Market. I’ve
developed a bit of an addiction to blueberries and was looking for my weekly
fix. Mom was looking not so much for fresh produce as she was for old faces
from her childhood.
While she visited, I went to get my blueberries. I think the guy has figured
out what a sucker I am for the little blue devils, because just as I pulled
the cash from my wallet, he offered me a sample of his homemade blueberry
jam. Well, Mr. Smuckers doesn’t have a thing on this fellow, so I bought
a jar.
I’ve already arranged for someone to pick me up two more jars this weekend
since I’ll be out of town – I’ll need a good supply to get
me through until next season. I moved down the line, browsing mostly since
I didn’t have much cash with me and I had already eyed some peaches on
the back of some fellow’s tailgate at the end of the row.
I didn’t get very far though, since a gentleman had a basket of fresh
okra on the back of his trailer. One pound of that, if you please. He tried
to push some more stuff on me, particularly a loaf of his wife’s zucchini
bread.
Now I’m born and raised in our bountiful state and I’ve done a fair
share of traveling. Along the way I’ve sampled all sorts of eats; but
I’ve never in all my days heard of baking a loaf of bread with a member
of the squash family as it’s namesake ingredient. I politely declined
and moved on.
Another truck had a load of collards on the back, and I slowed down just enough
to let its proprietor engage me in a conversation. I explained I didn’t
think I had time to cook a mess of collards in the next couple of days and
I turned to leave. The nice lady offered some peas instead; she’d shelled
them herself. My mom had caught up with me at this point and she oohed and
aahed over the lady’s cooler of shelled and bagged peas.
“Ben, look, they’re already shelled,” she pointed out, with
just enough hint in her voice to explain I should buy some of the nice lady’s
peas. My cash supply was quickly dwindling, but I was only two spaces away
from the man with the peaches.
“Ben, come here for a second, I need to show you something,” I heard
a voice call from across the lot.
I turned to see Elizabeth Billips motioning for me to come talk to her.
I pointed toward the peach man and tried to explain, but she cut me off.
“It’ll only take a second, then I’ll leave you alone.”
I gave the peach man a hopeful glance and then turned to see what was so important.
"See those two boys over there with the watermelons.”
This time I cut her off, “Elizabeth, I haven’t even eaten the watermelon
you talked me into buying last week, besides I’m saving my money for
some peaches.” The next thing I know, one of those young boys is helping
me tote not one, but two, watermelons to my jeep. Like they say, there’s
one born every minute.
My mom was talking again when I came back, so she didn’t notice as I
pulled her wallet from her purse and removed a ten-dollar bill. Finally, I
would have my peaches. Having made my purchase, I began walking back up the
row of stands to my mom. "Hey, Ben, come here.” It was Elizabeth.
Again. "What?” I said, wary of her good nature. "Have you ever
tried any zucchini bread?”
There were several ways I thought about answering and “Please may I try
some?” was not one of them. Instead I found myself walking across the
parking lot with my bag of peaches in one hand and my loaf of bread in the
other.
When my mom and I finally made our way towards the car, I just about needed
a horse and cart to carry all my purchases. I began complaining as to how
I had allowed Elizabeth to bilk me out of all my cash.
“I can’t believe I just spent all this money, this is ridiculous.”
“No it’s not. It’s good for you and besides it’s like
an investment,” my mom pointed out.
She was right; it wasn’t the produce I was buying as much as I was buying
into the local community. And the way things are going in other markets these
days, that seems about the best place to be investing anyway.
contact
benr@thetruecitizen.com
Murphy's Law At Work
In
today’s lesson, students, we will learn that the best-laid plans of mice,
men and Democrats often fall apart, and that the term “conventional wisdom”
should be redefined to mean “what looks right is probably dead wrong.”Some cases in point: At least five congressional campaigns raging across Georgia’s landscape figure to make monkeys out of some of the state’s best-known political strategists and leave pie on the faces of several pundits, including your humble commentator. First a quick review: Just a year ago, the Democratic leadership of the Legislature, under the watchful eye of the governor and his friends, began the complicated job of drawing fresh congressional and legislative districts. The Democrats’ stated goal: Hang onto Democratic control of the General Assembly and add four or five additional Democrats (specific names were mentioned) to the state’s expanded 13-member congressional delegation.
The congressional maps, which were finally approved in Washington, matched the Democrats’ dreams almost perfectly. Then the nightmares began, for the Democrats at least. Murphy’s Law kicked in. What could go wrong did go wrong.
For instance:
• Eighth District Rep. Saxby Chambliss, R-Moultrie, was given a new district in which he was all but certain to win re-election. The Democrats’ mission: Keep Saxby out of statewide politics by giving him a safe congressional district. Mission aborted. Chambliss jumped into the U.S. Senate race and may give incumbent Democrat Max Cleland a king-sized headache — if Chambliss can defeat state Rep. Bob Irvin in the primary.
•Fourth District Rep. Cynthia McKinney, D-DeKalb, was so confident of an easy re-election campaign that she became an unofficial adviser to the Democrats’ redistricting team. No one guessed that McKinney would shortly start popping off about President Bush and bizarre plots preceding Sept. 11. (Bush at the time was the most popular public figure in Georgia.) Or that her old friend and mentor, Sen. Zell Miller, would turn against her. (Miller is the second-most-beloved Georgia politician.) Or that a judge, Denise Majette, would give up a safe seat on the bench to run against her. Or that Republicans might cross over in droves to vote against her in the Democratic primary. Now she is in the fight of her political life.
•The Democrats gave former Congressman Buddy Darden a swell new district-lucky 11 – which appeared tailor-made for one of Gov. Barnes’ best buds to make a comeback. Darden had run well in parts of that district before. Who could have guessed that one of Speaker Tom Murphy’s pals, former Buckhead businessman Roger Kahn, would dive into the primary race, spend a mountain of money and pull ahead of Darden in the polls? Or that three tough Republicans – state Sen. Phil Gingrey, GOP activist Bob Herriott and Professor Cecil Staton – would decide they could win this carefully drawn pro-Darden Democratic district?
•The Democratic brain trust concluded long ago that it owed former party Chairman David Worley of Jonesboro a fat reward for his good works, including nearly defeating Republican Newt Gingrich sometime back. So it drew a zigzag jurisdiction centering on I-285. District 13 looked like a natural for Worley. Trouble is, the landscape also looked delicious to state Sens. Greg Hecht of Forest Park and David Scott of Atlanta and Rep. Donzella James of Atlanta and others. Now a primary runoff between Hecht and Scott, or Hecht and James, seems likely. Unless lightning strikes, Worley will be on the outside looking in. Sorry, Dave, no reward this year; 13 was an unlucky number.
•The Democratic bigwigs also wanted to do something nice for Senate Majority Leader Charles Walker of Augusta. Thus came the prize of a new District 12, which included Augusta, Athens and Savannah. The Democrats thought they had arranged the district so Charlie couldpick his very own congressman, someone like “Champ” Walker, his son. Oops. That didn’t work either. A bunch of other Democrats jumped in. Worse than that, Athens talk-show host Barbara Dooley, wife of revered Coach Vince, decided to run as a Republican in the new district. Now District 12 is all messed up. Champ may not get to go to Washington. Charlie is being audited – and distracted from politics. And Barbara is already picking out her congressional wardrobe.
Not every Democratic ploy failed, however. The Democratic chiefs managed to entice two conservative Republican icons – Bob Barr and John Linder – to run against each other in a new guaranteed-Republican 7th District. When the dust clears from the primary, Democrats will have one less Republican incumbent to deal with. Either Barr or Linder will be off the field, at least for the time being. That is a certainty, according to conventional wisdom.
Bill Shipp
is editor of Bill Shipp's Georgia, a weekly newsletter on government and business.
He can be reached at P.O. Box 440755, Kennesaw, GA 30144 or by calling (770)
422-2543,
e-mail: bshipp@bellsouth.net,
Web address:
http://www.billshipp.com
