Road Trip: The Middle of Minnesota

This story involves work colleagues, airplanes, a white Cadillac, 1980s music, and a wide-open Minnesota highway. You know, another typical road story. Most names have been withheld out of courtesy.

I do not travel much for my work. There are and have been times though when I have had to travel. Most often this is by car to some central location for a meeting, or on occasion, for some extended event. A few times the traveling took me out of state to other places.

One such trip was to Duluth, Minnesota. A colleague and I left Chattanooga on a Sunday morning. We flew to Memphis. From Memphis, we flew to Minneapolis. In Minneapolis, we were slated to fly to Duluth. This is where the road trip came into play.

Our journey had been uneventful enough by the time we landed in Minneapolis. We had a layover, so we had to wait for a time. While we were waiting we noticed we knew some other people who would be boarding the plane to Duluth with us. These were folks who worked in other locations across Tennessee but performed work duties similar to what me and my colleague did where they lived. We knew them from meetings and phone calls over the previous couple of years. This was a good thing as we understood while we were all staying a few days in Minnesota we already knew some people who would also be there.

Then the first delay came. A thunderstorm blew through. I remember looking out a large plate glass window into the horizon while dark clouds descended, and lightning shot to the ground. Flights were grounded. We began to grow antsy wanting to get to our destination. Finally, the storm relented and we knew then it was only a matter of time before we would soon be on our way. After all, they let us board the plane. Except, we then waited and waited…and waited. We were then told that after the storm passed, the plane was inspected again before it could be cleared for takeoff. In this inspection, the plane was discovered to have a flat tire. Then it became worse.

We were then told our flight would not be taking off at all. It was late Sunday afternoon. The Duluth airport, although an international airport, had closed for the day. We missed our window to land there. The company who was hosting our meetings scrambled before agreeing to charter busses from Minneapolis to Duluth.

And this is the point where a plan for a road trip through Minnesota began to come together. One of our colleagues from Memphis located me and my Chattanooga colleague then spotted two others from Nashville. Our Memphis friend asked us if we would be willing to ride to Duluth if she rented a car big enough for all of us. The thoughts of a multi-hour ride on a bus were suddenly dashed with the hopes of us getting to our destination on our own terms. We all agreed. Our Memphis friend told us to grab our luggage then to meet her at a certain spot. She would rent a car then meet us there. Fearing others might have the same idea, our Memphis colleague, who only brought a carry-on bag, took off to where the rental car companies were located while we waited for our luggage to appear.

In time, the four of us retrieved our bags. We then made our way to meet our Memphis friend hoping and praying she was able to locate a large enough car for the five of us. As we walked to our meeting place, three of us noticed that one of our Nashville colleagues was busy talking to a college age woman who was following each step we all made. These two had apparently talked on the plane then continued their conversation through all the chaos that followed. Then, just as if it were planned for a movie, as soon as we arrived at our meeting place, our Memphis colleague came barreling around a corner in a big, white Cadillac. She popped open the trunk while we began shoving our luggage into the trunk of the car.

Our Nashville colleague noted that the young lady she was talking to was from Duluth. Her name was Jenny. She had attended a political rally in Washington, DC that weekend and was now trying to get home. She had made no plans how to get there if something happened to the plane or if the airport you need to get to has to close so everybody can go home. You know, like any of that would ever happen.

The five of us, not a one of us under forty years of age, looked at each other. We then asked Jenny if she needed a ride to Duluth. Of course, she did. We then somehow crammed her luggage into the Cadillac. I think one of us may have even jumped into the air to do a butt bounce on the trunk lid to make it close before we roared off into the evening.

We ripped out of Minneapolis headed north. I always like to know the route we are going but on this trip I did not care. Our Memphis friend, one Nashville friend and Jenny took the front seat while my Chattanooga colleague and the other Nashville colleague took the backseat. I was just glad to be moving in any direction and could only hope it was the right one.

The rainy weather cleared soon enough. I do remember the skies clearing enough so that we all enjoyed a nice sunset on the ride. We stopped to grab a sandwich and take a bathroom break along the way. Soon enough, we were back on the road again.

This trip consisted of a good deal of shop talk among the five of us who shared similar career paths. We talked about the upcoming week and plans we had when we returned to our home offices. No doubt Jenny was bewildered by our conversation lost in the language of work-speak.

Our front seat Nashville friend made an effort to find a radio station that played 1980s music. After all, five of us had lived through that decade and appreciated the music from then. As we listened to tune after tune of old familiar songs, we laughed along, sang along and shared memories of some of the songs we heard. I am not sure poor Jenny had heard any of the songs we knew so well.

We soon were in Duluth. We discovered some of us were in one hotel and the rest of us were in another hotel. And then there was Jenny. While our Memphis colleague left some of us at our hotel, she had to ask Jenny where she needed to go. It almost seemed like she did not want to go to her home. It was almost like she wanted to keep hanging out with us, you know the cool older people who knew every 1980s song ever heard and spoke in technical terms about the work they did. Maybe this one road trip had altered her life course. Those of us who were fortunate enough to find where we were staying learned soon enough that our new friend Jenny made it safely home despite her seeming reluctance to leave a group of strangers she shared two hours with in a long, white Cadillac.

This road trip was over. I though had one last trick up my sleeve. The next day, I took a small piece of paper, wrote on it then put it in my pocket. I then located our Nashville colleague who first befriended Jenny. We talked about the craziness of the trip. We talked about the randomness of meeting a total stranger who had no qualms about getting into a car with folks she did not know. We laughed about how we probably tortured Jenny with our insistence on listening to 1980s music during the entire trip.

Then I mentioned as I was walking into the room, someone handed me a message and asked me to deliver that message to her. I then added I was told it was from our friend, Jenny. It seems Jenny needed our Nashville colleague to call her. This brought a smile to her face. I then handed the paper over to her. She unfolded it then read it aloud, “Jenny, 867-5309.” We then both burst into laughter. The laughs the five of us shared over this road trip through the years still make me smile today.

“You can have Bemidji, and the rusty, dusty range, and Babbit and Aurora all the way to Coleraine, and you can have those cities: Minneapolis and St. Paul, ‘cause to tell you the truth, I like it in Duluth.”
-The Moose Wallow Ramblers

Road Trip: The Middle of Minnesota playlist:
Lenny Kravitz "Fly Away"
Husker Du "Private Plane"
Plain White T's "Airplane"
The Kinks "(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman"
Prince "Rock n Roll Is Alive (And It's Living in Minneapolis)"
Sonny Curtis "Love Is All Around"
Dwight Yoakam "Long White Cadillac"
Moors & Macumber "Welcome To Duluth"
Trampled By Turtles "Duluth"
The Moose Wallow Ramblers "I Like It In Duluth"
Bob Dylan "Jokerman"
Tommy Tutone "Jenny/867-5309"

Road Trip: Bowling Green

At a certain time in my life, I put many miles on my truck traveling to Bowling Green, Kentucky. I first went to Bowling Green to be part of a friend’s wedding in the mid-1980s. Little did I know then how one day in the not-so-distant future I would live there for a time.

Fast-forward a few years and a college friend (hi, Kelly!) was working in Bowling Green for a company that produced video yearbooks for schools. With her connections, I soon interviewed with that company. I was then hired to work there.

I moved to Bowling Green in the late spring. I had an apartment just outside the city limits of Bowling Green near the Chevrolet Corvette manufacturing facility. I worked evenings so I well remember looking outside my front window during the day spending time watching new Corvettes being test driven by my apartment.

For much of the rest of that calendar year, Kentucky became my home. I had a number of friends who lived nearby so it was good to see them on occasion. Nashville was an hour south and other friends lived there. I was often on the road visiting Music City, USA on weekends. A few times, friends visited me for a weekend in Bowling Green.

My day-to-day world then was in the town that is the home to Western Kentucky University, Houchen’s Grocery, the Greenwood Mall, and Beech Bend Park. One of the local radio stations was the Beaver, WBVR. Another friend (hi, Christi!) worked for them. It was always nice to turn on the radio and listen to her.

I also recall Kentucky had some incredible sunsets. I have lived most of my life where sunsets slide behind mountains. In Bowling Green, the land was flat, so experiencing the sun slip slowly toward the ground was a nice change of pace.

I remember during one friend’s visit from Nashville how we visited a restaurant named Quincy’s. It was a steakhouse and featured a salad bar. I don’t recall what we ate when we went. I do remember laughing so hard that my friend nearly choked on his food. I never went back to Quincy’s after that because I imagine they might have met me at the door to turn me away.

I was always amazed how when I drove outside Bowling Green into the countryside. Yes, there were cattle and farmland there, but there were also small oil derricks. It seems that section of Kentucky had oil underneath the ground in certain locations, so a few folks could have been considered Kentucky oil barons.

Later that calendar year, the company that employed me made drastic changes breaking promises they made to a number of us who worked there. It became time to move on for me. So, I packed back up and moved back to Georgia for a time.

That road from Bowling Green south then back north to Bowling Green was one I traveled frequently for a time years ago. On either side of Nashville, the drive was smooth and free from the congestion of Tennessee’s capital city. I have driven enough to think I could do it with my eyes closed.

Recently, we spent a few days in Kentucky. Jennifer has an aunt and uncle who live about an hour east of Bowling Green. We have been there through the years to spend part of the Thanksgiving holiday with many of her family. On this trip we ventured closer to Bowling Green but still stayed east of the town. One day we did drive to a dairy farm in Barren County. Getting that close to some old haunts made me a bit reminiscent of the time I spent there.

It made me remember one trip I made when I lived in Bowling Green. I stopped at a gas station in Nashville to fill up the tank. Inside, I spotted this giant black and gold mug with the WKDF logo on it. WKDF was one of the hotter radio stations in Nashville at the time. I bought that mug and still have it to this day. It is one of the few things that have survived the years from my short time in Bowling Green. That mug reminds me of my time in Kentucky. I no longer drink out of that mug. Instead, it holds dozens of pennies. Still, I can’t quite part with it as it seems connected to a time and place that remains a special time in my life, even if it was for a very short time.

Road Trip: Bowling Green playlist:
Kentucky Headhunters “Walk Softly On This Heart Of Mine”
John Prine (with Marty Stuart) “Paradise”
Vince Gill “When I Call Your Name”
Loretta Lynn “Blue Kentucky Girl”
The Allman Brother Band “Good Clean Fun”
Bill Monroe “Blue Moon of Kentucky”
MC Hammer “U Can’t Touch This”
The Black Crowes “Jealous Again”
ZZ Top “Doubleback”
Patty Loveless and Ricky Skaggs “Close By”
Kentucky Headhunters “Dumas Walker”
The Everly Brothers “Bowling Green”

Some Call Me Timmy

Ever notice how many names you are known by? I have thought some about this from time to time. When you become a parent, you get a new identity. Hannah knows me as “Daddy”. Of all the names I am known by, it is my favorite name by far. Now to Hannah’s friends I am “Hannah’s daddy”. That one is okay, too. As I become older, I sometimes hear some younger folks refer to me as “Mr. Dills”. While I may feel that title should refer to my late grandfather or to my father, I try to temper that urge so that in some way I acknowledge younger people who have been raised with some respect for those older than they are.

For the most part though, most everyone I know calls me ‘Tim”. It is a shortened version of my given name, “Timothy”. The name means “honoring God”. So many of our names reach back to some meaning tied to God.

Some have varied my name throughout my life in some way. You know “Tiny Tim” was one. I have long been confused with that one since it could be Tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol from Charles Dickens, but it could also mean the person calling me that really liked the falsetto-singing, ukulele-playing pop culture star Tiny Tim best known in the 1960s and 1970s. A few called me “Timbo” from time to time although that one never stuck for long.

During the earliest part of my life, I was known as “Timmy”. I have no idea who first called me that or why. I then was known by “Timmy” by family and friends. At some point, I suppose I thought “Timmy” sounded too much like a little kid’s name, so I worked hard to let folks know I preferred to be called “Tim”. I don’t really recall any specific event that made me determine this is how I should be identified but it caught on. Now most all who know me call me by that shortened version of my given first name.

Except some still call me “Timmy”. I noticed this when I was in college. I was home one summer and attended a family reunion. I saw aunts, uncles, and cousins I had not seen in years. For some of them, the last time they had seen me was when I was called “Timmy”. I noted then how some called me by that name on that day especially when some who used that name followed it by saying how they had not seen me since I was “little”. When I returned to school in the fall, I joked with some of my friends about being called “Timmy”. When I hosted a radio show on the college radio station, I then began calling myself “Little Timmy”.

At some point, my nieces and nephews, and maybe even a few cousins, caught on to it all. They started calling me “Timmy” as well. They relished this since they thought it got under my skin some. And, maybe, for a time, it did. Even now when we are together at some point, one of them will purposely, or otherwise, call me “Timmy”.

I don’t hear the name “Timmy” often these days. At a recent family funeral though I heard it a few times. With so many years behind me now, I don’t always recognize the name when I hear it. Maybe it is just so much a part of me now that it skips by me when someone uses that name. On this day though prior to the funeral service, a few family members had told me one of my cousins that I had not seen in years was there. I had not run across him though. As the family gathered to walk into the funeral home chapel, I saw my cousin across the room. I broke the line, walked to him, grabbed his hand then looked him in the eyes. Sure enough, he gripped my hand back, looked me in the eyes and without hesitation said, “Timmy.”

For me, that is enough reason to always answer to that name.

Road Trip: The Yellow Rose

In this space, I have written about several road trips I have taken over the years. Once or twice I have taken a side trip in these stories. This is another side trip.

A few years after I learned to drive, my parents helped me buy a car. It was an early 1970s Road Runner. Sorry, I can’t recall the model year although I want to say it was 1973. The car had bucket seats and an eight-track player. My brother, who made a living using Bondo, sandpaper, water and paint to become an excellent paint and body man, used his talent to transform the car from Tootsie lollipop brown with a black stripe to black with a white stripe. Somewhere I have a photograph of the finished product.

I did not keep the car for long. You see there was a drinking problem. The car liked to drink oil and gas. When I went away to college, I did not drive it there so it sat for several months. In my first summer home, I sold the car and bought a late 1970s Datsun car. It was canary yellow with a black stripe. It was a much more sensible option for me. College was a seven-hour trip one way so the car with the better gas mileage seemed to be a no-brainer.

During my college years, that yellow car, sometimes referred to as the Yellow Rose, was my primary means of getting from Point A to Point B. While the car was reliable much of the time, it had its moments of frustrating unreliability. One trip back to college, it sputtered while leaving a rest area. The car ran okay as long as I kept my foot on the gas. When we stopped for lunch, I told a friend who was driving his Chevy Luv truck to not leave me since my car was sputtering at times. My friend did as I asked. Somehow, I made it safely through Nashville. A few hours later, I had to exit the interstate. At the end of the ramp, I would have to stop for traffic. I was not sure I could come to a complete stop without the car quitting. So, I closed one eye, did not stop, and made the left turn safely. I got in the car the next day and it ran like a top.

There were other such incidents. She sputtered and quit under a red light on a Saturday night in Jackson. That incident involved a tow truck and a ride back to campus in the back of a pick-up on a cold autumn night. Another time I parked in a restricted campus parking lot to pick up my friend, Roger. In my haste to not get a ticket, I backed directly into a concrete barrier centering the trunk. For years after this, every time Roger rode with me, he looked at me, grinned then held his neck.

Most of my friends had such cars during college. Ligon had a Studebaker. Gordo had a huge blue Dodge we called the Tank. I joked once that car was so big if you were in the backseat and needed to talk to someone in the front seat you had to place a long-distance phone call. Not to be outdone, Skip owned a huge beige car we referred to as the Banana Boat. Hester had the Im-puh-luh. Young had a Cadillac. Others had Monte Carlos, Pintos, Volvos, Suburus, K-Cars, and pick-up trucks. Most of these vehicles seemed to be held together with duct tape, spit, chewing gum, and a prayer. Still, they did what they had to do when we needed them.

I traveled many miles in that yellow car, most of them during my college years. Less than a year after my graduation, it stalled on the side of the road about an hour away from my parents' home. I called my Dad and he called a longtime family friend with a tow truck who hauled that old yellow car home. We worked on it and got it running again. I sold it. For a time I lived in my hometown, then later not too far away. It became commonplace for me to see that car around town.

One day I pulled into a gas station in my hometown. I looked at the pump in front of me, and there she was. I knew it was her. She still had an old college parking sticker attached to the back bumper. I could not resist. I walked over to the driver. I told him I once owned the car he was driving. I asked him how it was working for him. He replied he had never had a lick of trouble from the car. At that moment, I relived moments when I stood on the side of the road because the car quit. I had never wanted to kick that car more than I did at that moment. I wished him well and went on my way.

There were a lot of road trips in that old yellow car, Jackson, Nashville, home, jaunts around west Tennessee, and a few times down nearby backroads in an attempt to just clear my mind. There is a Thom Schulyer song popularized by Dan Seals called “My Old Yellow Car”. While every line in that song doesn’t fit my experience I must admit when I hear the song these lines somehow speak to me:
“There was no road too winding and nowhere too far
With two bucks of gas and my old yellow car.
Somewhere in a pile of rubber and steel
There’s a rusty old shell of an automobile
And if engines could run on desire alone
That old yellow car would be driving me home.”

Playlist for "Road Trip: The Yellow Rose"
Dan Seals "My Old Yellow Car"
Emmylou Harris "White Line"
The Cars "Drive"
Gary Numan "Cars"
Steve Earle "Copperhead Road"
Lone Justice "Ways To Be Wicked"
Creedence Clearwater Revival "Keep On Chooglin'"
Ronnie Milsap "She Loves My Car"
Jason and the Scorchers "Absolutely Sweet Marie"
Georgia Satellites "Keep Your Hands To Yourself"
Don Henley "The Boys of Summer"
John Hiatt "Riding With The King"

Road Trip: Away To College

One January Saturday morning, my parents drove me to college. It was a road trip that forever changed my life. They left me well over three hundred miles away from the home I had known all my life. This new place was a small room with two roommates and a dorm full of characters who became among the closest friends I have ever known. I did not see that coming when we pulled out of the family driveway that Saturday morning.

I don’t recall much about the actual trip. It was cold and sunny. The trip seemed to take forever. We finally got there and mostly unpacked. Soon enough, it was midday Sunday and my parents were leaving to return to Georgia while I was staying behind in a place where I only knew a handful of people.

Life suddenly was different. While I had good roommates and made good friends then, I was still homesick. Within a few days of my arrival, I had the days counted until spring break. I remember thinking if I could just make it to that time when I could go home to visit, I could come back for the seven or so weeks remaining to finish out the semester and then never return.

So, I waited for mid-March. It came in the form of a Friday. My classes ended around lunchtime. I was riding back to Georgia though with a friend whose classes did not end until later in the afternoon. By the time we were joined by a third rider, we were leaving campus later than I hoped but we were finally on the road.

I remember some things about that trip. I know we took turns driving. It seemed to take a long time to get where we wanted to be. The one major thing that sticks out to me about that trip was a great realization that I loved my parents and family more than I ever understood. I remember looking out the car window into the velvety darkness thinking about my life and what I planned to do with it. I knew what I was doing was not easy but I think I then began to understand it was something I had to do.

I finally got back into Mom and Dad’s house after midnight. It was good to be back there. Soon enough, I would see other family members during the week. The week ended though. Before I was ready, we were on our way back to college.

The remaining weeks at school seemed to pass quicker than those first few weeks. It wasn’t long before my parents came to pick me up and we drove home for my summer break. At one point in that recent past, I was certain if I could make it to those first few days of May then I would never go back. When we left that day in May though, I knew deep down in my heart I would be back. I just did not see that coming when this journey started on a sunny, cold January Saturday morning.

Playlist for "Road Trip: Away To College"
Van Halen "Panama"
Nena "99 Luft Balloons"
Christine McVie "Got A Hold On Me"
Oak Ridge Boys "I Guess It Never Hurts To Hurt Sometimes"
Cyndi Lauper "Time After Time"
Elton John "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues"
John Mellencamp "Pink Houses"
Jackson Browne "For A Rocker"
The Cars "You Might Think"
The Go-Gos "Head Over Heels"
The Pretenders "Middle of the Road"
Tony Carey "A Fine, Fine Day"

Oh! Christmas Tree

‘Tis the season again, proving how time flies. It sure seems it was yesterday when I was pondering what to write about the holiday season. Of course, that was a year ago. But, alas, here we are again. In a year that has been upside-down and sideways, one size too large and one size too small at the same time, it is good to know how some things have not changed.

Last year in this season at our house we were in the middle of a renovation. Our dining room and deck were gone then. A skeleton of what they would become was taking form. Still, we forged ahead with our family traditions. We did what we normally did knowing the work ahead on our house would be finished soon.

Almost as soon as the renovation was completed, everything across our country closed. The virus visited our shores. Our leaders told us to wash our hands and put on masks to flatten a curve. Our instincts told us to buy toilet paper.

For me, I went from working from my office in a second-floor brick building a half-hour commute away to working from our dining room table, mere steps from the kitchen. It all happened so suddenly. My work was more challenging in some ways. Life, overall, was a bit more stressful than normal. To add to the workload, Hannah’s school finished the year remotely as well. Her summer camp was then canceled. Fortunately, Jennifer’s work scheduled continued mostly as it had before. We ended up with this different schedule for months. It was busy here every day. It seemed as if every moment was filled.

To add to all this, we could not get away for a break since travel was limited. This has meant we have seen little of my family in the past year. We have seen less of friends also. It is aggravating and disheartening to think about all the time lost in that regard. It is true we can now connect in many amazing and different ways; those ways though will never be the same as a hug from your mom or soaking in advice from your dad.

Hannah’s school opened again in August. I returned to my physical office in September. Jennifer continued her work routine as she had all along. In the new madness we learned to live through, it was good to know her schedule stayed steady as it seemed to provide an anchor so we didn’t drift too far from who we are as a family.

While the uncertainty of this virus caused changes to ripple into every day of our lives, a constant for us was gathering around our dining room table each night. It was good to have this. More than before, this time became more needed, more special. It became a time that allowed us to leave behind worries about viruses, vaccines, work-work, schoolwork, and the other concerns that creep into everyday living. Because of the different nature of this year though I think it caused a different focus at times. The changes came about so fast and so hard it was difficult to appreciate the remodeled surroundings.

This remodel project hit at the heart of who we are as a family. When we initially looked at this house, I am convinced Jennifer’s eyes lit up when we walked into that old dining area. The room featured three walls of huge windows. Our first visit was on a warm October day. The trees in the woods behind the house were changing colors. One of those windows was open allowing a breeze to pass through. It was all like a snapshot in a memory book. I am not saying that was the reason we bought this house, but I am satisfied it helped convince Jennifer that this is where we would settle. So, changing that room was a major thing.

Of course, when you live in a particular house for many years, you learn how some things just do not work out the way you thought they would initially. When we used the dining room on cold days, it was very cold. On summer afternoons, the old air-conditioning unit could not produce enough cool air to make a dent in the heat from the sunshine through the sixteen giant windows and two mostly glass doors. Then the roof leaked. I patched it. I had roofing experts patch it.  Still, heavy rain would fall and invariably leak onto the furniture.  We became fearful the roof would eventually just collapse.

And so, just after Thanksgiving 2019, this remodel started for us. We knew then we would not have the use of part of our house for a few months. That was okay though. We sacrificed that time understanding we would have a more useful house for the years ahead.

With all the craziness this year has brought, it has been hard to appreciate and enjoy these renovations. All the chaos just allowed us to do what we had to do and did not necessarily let us sit back, kick up our heels, and appreciate the changes.

Still, we have tried to maintain as many of the routine things as possible, so we don’t lose track of everything we once knew. One of those things is how we decorate for Christmas. We usually do this the Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving. We were able to do this as a family again this year. I stretch out the multi-colored lightbulbs along our porch railing. I hang the strands of twinkling snowflakes from our porch overhang. I locate then connect power strips and extension cords to a timer that somehow magically illuminates the front of our house. While I do this, Jennifer and Hannah decorate the Christmas tree, then place the stockings on the fireplace mantle and add seasonal cheer in the form of various ornaments and charms throughout the house. By the time the day turned dark, our house slowly began to glow with Christmas lights inside and out.

We did vary one Christmas decorating tradition this year. Instead of placing the Christmas tree in our living room, we placed it in the dining room. It made sense. We have a bit more room there. We would not have to rearrange various pieces of furniture in the living room as we do every year.

Looking back I realize I have spent more time in our house this year day-to-day than any other year that we have lived here. Because of this, I now understand how I sometimes fail to see the obvious. For instance, recently we came home from a short adventure. It was raining this day. My first instinct was to walk into the dining room to see if the roof had a new leak. About a step into the room, I realized since the renovation I no longer need to be concerned with that.

More importantly, though, I thought about the changes in the past year late one night. Jennifer and Hannah had both gone to bed. I went through the house making sure doors were locked and lights were turned off. I stepped into the kitchen then looked ahead into the dining room. There, in a silhouette against our new windows between the dining room table and our new green couch, stood our illuminated Christmas tree.

It is the same tree we have had for years. Most of the decorations are ones we have accumulated over the years. The location of the tree was different. The room where it stood had changed from our other years here.

I stopped though for a moment. In the darkness, the tree looked remarkable. The new surroundings gave the tree a fresh backdrop in which to shine. For a moment, I thought about all the changes not just in this room but in life over the past year. I realized how blessed I am in ways I sometimes overlook.

‘Tis the season for sure, a season to reflect on the past but also a time to trust better days are ahead. I hope each of us can find and appreciate the good stuff in life.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Finding Thanks

It is getting so late in the year we can almost stretch out our arms and pull the next year up to us close and tight. What a year this one has been, huh? After all, I never thought I would ever walk into a bank with a mask on but I did several times this year. It’s been one for the books, and one, many of us would just as soon forget. Still, it’s Thanksgiving, and the year ain’t over yet.

It seems as if the year could be encapsulated in a scene from an old Thanksgiving episode of WKRP in Cincinnati. You probably have seen it but I will cut to the chase, turkeys, when tossed out of a helicopter, cannot fly. Here, see for yourselves.

I don’t know but 2020 seems like we all were employees of WKRP. I suppose that is better than being one of the turkeys.

While we near the end of the year, I hope you take some time to laugh. It is good medicine. If you can, spend some time with family. Bonus points if you can share a meal with them. Put down your phone. Facebook can wait. Twitter is a cesspool. Don’t be distracted by the façade social media projects. Take some time to be quiet and just reflect. Breathe in, exhale.

I hope when you take some time that you find people and things for which you are thankful. They are there if you choose to look. By the way, being thankful is something you determine each day. If you cannot find anything to be grateful for, then do something good for someone else, so they can be grateful for you.

Happy Thanksgiving. God bless us all.

And now we thank you, our God, and praise your glorious name. ~1 Chronicles 29:13

Road Trip: College Visits

Writing about various road trips I have experienced through the years has been an interesting journey. Several of these trips came to memory easily. Sometimes though the memory of one or two of them creeps in that had nearly slipped away.

As I get older, I find myself growing more nostalgic about days gone by. Those days weren’t probably as good as memory revisits them now. Still, they sure seemed good.

While some of those memories remain vivid as if they happened just yesterday, some things about such memories aren’t quite as close by to recall. After all if something happened when I was seventeen years old, it is hard for my now much more older body to recall what things were like then.

In hindsight, high school days went by very fast. It seemed as if they were over about as quickly as they started. When they ended, some of us weren’t sure what to do next.

What I do recall is how when we were seniors, we were granted three days so we could visit colleges. Looking back, I did not take these days seriously. I mean, you tell me how you plan to give me three days I do not have to attend classes and all you need is written confirmation I went on a campus tour. Sign me up.

Memory is hazy now on recalling who went on these trips. I have a good idea who was on at least two of the trips. Our friendship coupled with the time from high school into adulthood and parenthood for all of us makes me not even try to name any of them here. The statute of limitations may not be up for some of them, too. You just do that for longtime friends.

One trip was to a technical school about 45 minutes away. I don’t recall much about the visit other than it was rather short. We looked at a few things then it was over. The second trip was to a nice private college a few hours away. This one took a bit longer. The campus personnel may have looked us over and decided we weren’t future students but if they did we still saw their dog-and-pony show. I remember being bowled over at the beauty of the campus. I even looked over the printed material they gave us several times after the trip. The final trip was to a large state university over two hours away. It seemed like a great town but all of us knew none of us would be going to school here either. We were back on the road soon enough.

I do not remember a lot of specifics about the actual ride to these places. We made it there then back safely. At this point, that is what matters. The memories I have of those trips is just being with my friends. I remember us joking with each other. I remember laughing with them. Good times. Better friends.

I am not sure I would go back to being seventeen years old again. Looking back I see how green I was then. I understand how unprepared in many ways I was for the years ahead. I do know the teenage years can be awkward and tough as you go through them. It might be nice to be the weight I was then. It might be good to feel younger. It might even be nice to experience that feeling of knowing how the future was still wide open then. I know it would be good to have one more ride with those friends. It just ended too soon. It always does.

Playlist for Road Trip: College Visits
The Rolling Stones "Start Me Up"
Earth, Wind & Fire "Let's Groove"
Frankie & The Knockouts "Sweetheart"
Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band "Betty Lou's Gettin' Out Tonight"
Pat Benetar "Hit Me With Your Best Shot"
Boz Scaggs "Miss Sun"
The Who "You Better You Bet"
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with Stevie Nicks "Insider"
Kim Carnes "Bette Davis Eyes"
Journey "Who's Crying Now?"
Steve Winwood "While You See A Chance"
George Harrison "All Those Years Ago"

Missing A Friend

It has been a few months since I heard the bad news that a friend of ours passed away. When I moved to Chattanooga I met him and his lovely wife through church. I soon learned he was a wise man when it came to explaining things in the Bible. It wasn't much longer before I also learned he lived out what he had learned through the Bible.

When I began to date Jennifer, he and his wife became some of our major supporters. I then learned my friend was wise with advice and willing to share. I tried to heed his advice because when he dispensed advice it never came across heavy-handed or haughty. It always seemed genuine and straight from his heart.

We trusted this friend. When it came time to plan our wedding we knew he needed to play a part. We asked him if he would offer a prayer during a ceremony. He was thrilled. He came through with a simple but powerful petition. Later, after a few years of marriage, we turned to this friend for help in another matter. He sold us life insurance. We both wanted to make sure the other was taken care of in case something bad happened to the other. This friend found the right policy helping us out in a time of a major decision.

When Hannah was born, more advice was dispensed to me from this man, a father, and by this time in his life, a grandfather. I never knew his children but I know others who do. These others stamped a seal of approval on the job our friend and his wife did with raising their children. That was enough for me to listen when he shared advice on raising children.

One evening, our friend told us he and his wife were moving. Both had retired. Their children lived in other cities. They wished to be nearer their family. We understood this, yet, we both realized a deep sadness that our friends would soon be living elsewhere.

And, away, they went. We saw them a few times over the years. We were always welcomed with warm, sturdy hugs and smiling faces. We were always questioned with a deep concern how we were really handling life, marriage and parenting.

When I write this our friend has been gone for several months. I thought about him today. I remembered one time we had seen them at Logan's Roadhouse. Our friend had some health issues and needed to watch what he ate. He had told me that would likely visit me one day, too. On this day at the restaurant, he asked me what I had ordered. I don't recall what I ordered that day other than it wasn't beef or steak. He looked at me, gave me a grin and told me I should always eat a steak or hamburger at a place that specializes in such, even when faced with possible dietary restrictions. I feel safe to say he told this to me outside of earshot of my wife and his wife. We joked about that for years. I even tell some people I feel as if I betray my friend if I go into a steakhouse and not order beef in some form or fashion.

So, today, we had lunch at Logan's Roadhouse. I thought about my friend a lot while there especially when I tried to determine what to order. I sure do miss him. I wish he were here now so I could tell him, "Fred, I had a burger for you today."

Rhetorically Elvis

The other night a photograph popped up in my Facebook feed. This photo, posted by Randy Burse, was taken during my college days which now are more years removed than I can readily recall. Even though time repeatedly adds space between then and now, the photo took me back as if that frozen moment was just yesterday.

That photograph was taken at a Halloween party during 1987. Those of us who were studying broadcasting, public relations, theater, and organizational communication at that time at Freed-Hardeman were involved in a faculty-sponsored group called COMMA, Communication Majors and Minors Association. We met several times each semester often networking with those from the real work world who had careers many of us aspired toward. Our group was small enough so that we all mostly knew one another. After four years worth of classes and COMMA meetings together, we also came to know our professors well. This group hosted a Halloween party inviting guests to dress up in costume for the night.

It was during those last few semesters when those of us with those specific majors turned our eyes toward tackling the big two courses we needed to complete to graduate. One course was Communication Theory taught by Dr. Steve Johnson. The other was titled Survey of Rhetorical Theory, taught by Dr. Gerald Fulkerson. These courses uncovered the backbone of how communication developed and behaved. They brought clinical views of the various ways we communicate for deeper consideration. These courses brought to light those important figures from long ago who began to analyze then record patterns then develop theories about how and why we communicate.

That said when a person is just looking for a career in broadcasting or public relations, this level of classroom study sure seemed heady stuff. As classmate Dawn Bramblett stated in a comment about the photo, those two classes were talked about by seniors in hushed tones when we were mere freshmen, a deserved tradition we passed along to others. These were tough courses with reputations that loomed all around us each year as we crept further down our academic path. That journey ended on the fateful first day of the semester when we walked into a classroom to finally read the course syllabus. Additionally, the two men who taught these courses expected serious participation and effort from those who made it to this point in their pursuit of a degree.

The photo shows left to right, myself, Dawn Bramblett and Christi Pugh. It was taken at the aforementioned party. At this point in the semester, the three of us, along with several others, were about halfway through “rhetoric”, as we often called the course. On this night, no doubt with rhetorical theory running wild in our minds, we attended the party dressed in togas. Adding to the visual, we wear leafy headdresses as if we just stepped out of Athenian ruins. Around our necks are name tags so that everyone could know who we were representing on this night. We weren’t sure if the ancient Greeks had any “My Name Is” tags back in that day, so Dawn’s excellent penmanship was put to good use as she boldly and neatly printed names on orange construction paper in large letters. We affixed strings to each paper then draped them

over our necks. Christi was Plato. Dawn was Aristotle. In the photo, I am turned sideways to the camera obscuring my name tag which identified me on this night as Gorgias, the “Elvis Presley” of rhetoric.

Remember, it was 1987. We were not far, geographically, from Memphis. It was a time when some felt Elvis was still alive and well. It was a time when the thought of Elvis Presley still had some cachet although I likely wiped that out with my appearance this night. As the “Elvis Presley” of rhetoric, I recall using a box of stick-on stars, the kind a Sunday school teacher may have let students place on an attendance chart years earlier, to attach them to the toga in an attempt to match Elvis’s rhinestone-laded jumpsuits. I wore gaudy sunglasses then wrapped fake sideburns around the temples of the glasses. Meantime, my friends, Christi and Dawn, were part of a larger group who appeared this night known as the Beatles of rhetoric.

Looking at the photo recently brought back a lot of good memories. As several commented on the photo, a bit of the backstory came to light. In a class session prior to this party, Dr. Fulkerson had likened Gorgias to Elvis Presley then likened other philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle to the Beatles as far as impact on the things we were studying at that moment. Several of us took Dr. Fulkerson’s explanation and ran with it in a literal sense to the COMMA Halloween party.

There is a bit more to the story though that I recall. Indulge me please as I attempt to add more backstory to this occasion. Hopefully, it will jog the memory others have about this event so that they can fill in more details.

The story begins on the first floor of the BCWE building on campus. The rhetoric class met several mornings each week in that first-floor classroom. During this particular semester though I had another course in the very same classroom. That other class was Communication Law, taught by the late Lora DeFore. This course met once a week in the evening.

This classroom was mostly unremarkable for the time, desks, chalkboard and a table for the teacher. There was one notable thing about this room though. On one wall hung a framed photo of an older woman alongside a small plaque with information about this woman. Sad to say, I do not recall this woman’s name. I do know though she in some way had donated resources to the school to help fund the building of the BCWE building. In return, the school honored her contribution by placing this nice framed photo on the wall in this room.

While the Communication Law course was interesting, meeting once a week for three hours after a long day came to be somewhat of a grind. I do not know who in that class looked at that photo on the wall then determined to make a small change to it. That isn’t important. But, one class meeting, someone had taken transparent tape then attached a small thin mustache to the space between the nose and upper lip of the lady in the photo. Our class met that night. We took a few minutes to chuckle at the photo then the class went on, and we forgot to remove the mustache.

Guess which class met the first thing the next morning in that room? You don’t have to answer since I meant this as, yes, you guessed it, a rhetorical question. For those keeping score at home though, Rhetorical Theory met in that classroom the next day.

At first, the Rhetorical Theory class went as it did every day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I sat about three-fourths of the way back in a desk near the middle of the classroom. As the class progressed, in the corner of my eye, I noticed my friend Scott Ballard seemed to be shaking. I glanced at him as he fought to keep from laughing out loud. I furrowed my brow at him asking him, without words, why he was struggling to keep his composure. He answered, without words, by cutting his eyes toward the photo on the wall. When I looked there, here was this sweet-looking grandmother figure with a pencil-thin mustache. I had forgotten about the photo, so it was now my turn to keep from bursting into laughter. Others began to take note of a growing disruption of the normalcy of the class. The suppressed laughter grew person-by-person and row-by-row from the back of the class to the first seat of each row.

At this point, Dr. Fulkerson understood something had taken over his lecture, he just did not know why or what. His initial reaction was to ask if his fly was open. His question allowed the classroom of students to explode in laughter. Some kind soul stopped laughing long enough to direct Dr. Fulkerson to the photo on the wall. Once he saw it, he laughed along with us adding a joke or two of his own, as only he could do with his wry, dry wit.

Dr. Fulkerson though was in a groove. He had material to cover with precious time slipping away. The whole series of events though had taken a toll on us as students. We could not stop laughing. We tried to suppress the laughter as we had earlier but trying to do so just made things worse. We tried to focus on the task at hand but learning about rhetorical theory seemed as far away then as the columns of the Parthenon. Dr. Fulkerson looked around at the ruins of this particular class session then ended it early, something he rarely did.

Sometime later, I am hazy on details, some of us began to dream of other ways to use the photo in the classroom so that we could, frankly, end another class session early. And, this brings us to Elvis Presley, and eventually, to Gorgias.

A photo of Elvis Presley was located. It was a profile of the left side of the entertainer’s face. A photocopy was made. This copy was taped to the frame in the right-hand corner making it look as if Elvis was looking down from above at the woman in the frame.

The Rhetorical Theory class met again. This time, Elvis occupied the picture frame along with the sweet-looking grandmother. Dr. Fulkerson though short-circuited any plans to derail the class by quickly acknowledging the picture. He chuckled at the feeble attempt to replicate the previous prank then transitioned into his lecture for the day. It is likely during this class period, Dr. Fulkerson looked over to Elvis on the picture frame and likened Gorgias to Elvis and other philosophers who followed as the Beatles of rhetorical theory.

Even though Dr. Fulkerson has passed away and Dr. Johnson retired, there is still comfort knowing students now still study the ancients, maybe even Gorgias. I am not sure how they remember his place in the great thinkers of that day and time. I just know when I think of him, I think of Elvis Presley but I also think of good times with good friends and I marvel at how all that comes back together now in the form of good memories.

~~~~~~~

In case you need your memory jogged about what life was like, musically, in October 1987, here is a playlist of songs from that time, along with one or two which just seemed to match the memory in some way.

Michael Jackson "Bad"

Bruce Springsteen "Brilliant Disguise"

Elton John "Candle In The Wind"

Heart "Who Will You Run To?"

Bourgeois Tagg "I Don't Mind At All"

Fleetwood Mac "Little Lies"

Swing Out Sister "Breakout"

U2 "Where The Streets Have No Name"

Richard Marx "Should've Known Better"

Cutting Crew "I've Been In Love Before"

REM "The One I Love"

Rosanne Cash "The Way We Make A Broken Heart"

Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes "I've Had The Time of My Life"

Jimmy Davis and Junction "Kick the Wall"

The Replacements "Skyway"

The Beatles "Twist and Shout"
George Harrison "When We Was Fab"
Elvis Presley "My Way"

And, if you are really ambitious, read up on Gorgias, you know, the Elvis Presley of rhetoric.

30513 Memories: The Old Haunts

In my mind, I can still picture things like they were when I was much younger than now. Sometimes, when I think about those times, I miss the way it all was then, back in that 30513 zip code. After all, it will always be the place I call home in some way. Time, among other things, brings changes. It just can’t stay the same. Still, the memories linger, hanging on, haunting me in some ways.

Some things I miss are still there but just have a different purpose now. Today the downtown is a bustling series of streets overrun by out-of-towners and those who have relocated who weave their way from business to business looking for overpriced knick-knacks, gourmet coffee, custom beer, antiques they think date back to the reconstruction and for a menu that is still Southern but still somehow politically correct enough for their refined tastes. Yet, when I set foot on those same streets, I recall how my Mom shopped at the department stores in the summer to put my school clothes on lay-a-way for the fall. I remember trying on lace-up work boots to wear to school during the cold winters. I think back to times when I would go with my Dad to the hardware store to help him look for a tool or to locate a belt for the lawnmower. There were times I even went to the grand-looking bank on the corner with my parents. While they conducted business inside, they allowed me to cross the street to the drug store so I could look over the magazines on display there.

Some things I miss are still there but it's just that time has moved on from it or from me. The jewelry store where I bought my high school senior ring sits nestled in the downtown like it has for years. I have only been back there once or twice since then. The movie drive-in is still in business although it often seems crowded over with those who have never experienced the thrill of watching a movie on an enormous outdoor screen. Ironically enough, the movie theater that opened while I was a teenager closed years back. At my age it also doesn't seem like the most logical thing to do would be to drive to Tilley Bend church after midnight to walk the cemetery armed only with a flashlight and courage just to see if any ghostly figures appear.

Some of what I miss is just no longer there any longer. This is the human element of all this. Every small town has its own cast of unique characters. I miss the ones I knew, some whose names I recall and some I can only remember by what they looked like back in that day and time. Of course in a small town, you find most of us are related in some way, through blood or marriage. There are those of that number I miss as well. Some of those I miss have moved elsewhere, some have moved on to their reward. Some of them were family. Some were just like family. I miss the neighbors you could trust with your life. I miss the family members who had your back no matter what. I miss the friends who understood what you were thinking even before you could verbalize it.

When things change, they are replaced with new memories. That is fine. That is how it all works. Still, the old haunts hold a place that can still make me happy from time to time when I run across their memory. Now, when I am back there in this place that can only be described as somewhere between Mayberry and Twin Peaks, and I drive through, I see what exists now, but I also see what once was, a ghost of the place I once knew.

30513 Memories: The Old Haunts Playlist

James Taylor "Our Town"
Warren Zevon "Keep Me In Your Heart"
Steve Earle "Someday"
George Harrison "All Those Years Ago"
Smashing Pumpkins "1979"
Deanna Carter "Strawberry Wine"
Mark Wills "19 Somethin'"
Fleetwood Mac "Landslide"
Bruce Hornsby and the Range "Across The River"
Paul Anka "Times of Your Life"
Darryl Worley "I Miss My Friend"
Rosanne Cash and Bobby Bare "No Memories Hangin' 'Round"
Dream Academy "Life In A Northern Town"
Dire Straits "Telegraph Road"
Simon and Garfunkel "Old Friends"
Gram Parsons "Brass Buttons"
Jim Croce "Photographs and Memories"
Five For Fighting "100 Years"
Jack Johnson "Go On"
Alan Jackson "Small Town Southern Man"
Mary Chapin Carpenter "I Am A Town"
The Allman Brothers Band "Revival"
The White Stripes "We Are Going To Be Friends"
Iris Dement "Our Town"