October 02 '99
Volume 174
Love Bugs People, Cars, And Insects
At the mention of the two words,
Another image I conjure up when love and bug are combined is the farcical seventies movie, The Love Bug, about a Volkswagen (VW) with a mind of its on. Because of its ladybug or beetle shape, both fans and critics of the unique vehicle nicknamed the Volkswagen, "the bug." The manufacturer even referred to some models as Beetles and others as Super Beetles. In the movie, the VW's owner named his car Herbie, and the popular movie later produced a sequel entitled, Herbie Rides Again. My grown children were quite young when my family saw the first movie, but they still remember going to the theater. It was a treat for them to go to a theater, since money for entertainment was not readily available during their early years. A third image I associate with love and bug are two people so in love they are hardly aware of the world around them. Most folks would call them love bugs. I taught school long enough to witness scores of love bugs of this variety. As for my own love life, I have no recollection of ever being in that bad a shape, but I am certain a family member or friend could attest it happened. It is the phrase "love bugs" rather than "love bug" that leads me to my fourth association. Love bugs can refer to people, but residents of the Gulf States, know a flying insect by the same name. I was introduced to the love bugs several years ago. I had ventured into extreme southern Mississippi on a business trip and kept watching insects, by the droves, slam into my windshield. When the love bugs are "in season," it doesn't take long to have a windshield covered in large white splatters of love bug remains. When that happens it's too late to hit the windshield washer button, and doing so only worsens the already poor visibility through the windshield. Love bug remains are hard to remove and usually require a good scrubber and plenty of elbow grease. Until this fall, my love bug/ insect experience had only been in the month of May. About two weeks ago I had been in Arkansas in the early morning hours for a business call and needed to be in Prentiss, MS that afternoon. Not wishing to drive eighty miles per hour in Interstate traffic for a long period of time, I exited the Interstate in Vicksburg, MS, and chose a route through Utica, and Crystal Springs to get to my afternoon destination. A few miles north of Utica, I began to get the familiar looking white splatters on my windshield and wondered if I was in a time warp. I stopped long enough in Utica to answer Nature's call and inspect the grill of my car. Sure enough the pesky critters appeared to be love bugs. I needed gasoline when I reached Crystal Springs, and, using the windshield cleaner/ scrubber supplied by the gas station, spent quite some time trying to get the bug remains off my windshield. "That's got to be love bugs," I reasoned, though I thought they only hatched in the spring. My wife had been in Louisiana in late August and had told me of the love bug problem, but I had filed that information in a remote corner of my brain, and did not readily associate that memory with the present conditions. I remember she asked me (I keep telling you she thinks I know everything.) why they were called love bugs. Her boss, Billy Haney, who was with her at the time of her Louisiana excursion, had told her the bugs were mating in flight. My answer was that I had also heard the same reason supplied by Billy, but a former co-worker had suggested they were called love bugs because the bugs stick so well to the surfaces on the vehicles onto which they hurl themselves. Barbara stated the bugs that were stuck on her car appeared to be paired together, but I explained I had never paid that much attention to the remains of love bugs. I further elaborated that whatever love bugs do while flying does not concern me, but they are a terrible nuisance and can quickly change the appearance of a vehicle from pristine clean to unsightly and dirty. The trip from Crystal Springs to Prentiss was only about an hour, but that was long enough to have a new bug collection on the windshield when I arrived. Inside the retail grocery store, I played ignorant and asked a clerk what type of insect it was that I had all over the front of my car. I explained that they were seemingly everywhere, for as I walked across the parking lot, I had to dodge the flying bugs. "They're love bugs," she responded, "and they are everywhere. They had a segment about them on the news last night. They are just awful. They've just recently hatched." She went on to state that her six year-old son wanted to know why they had two heads. He had observed the bugs, which, during mating are attached at the abdomen, and figured they were two-headed creatures. "I did not explain it to him," she volunteered, and I did not chastise her, but thought she missed a wonderful opportunity to introduce her son to the "birds and the bees" or is that the "bugs and the bees?" With my interest in love bugs recently pricked, I explored the Internet for more information on the pesky bugs. There I learned, the bugs hatch in the spring and again in late summer. The love bug arrived in North America in the 1920's, from Central America, but did not reach central Florida until the late sixties or early seventies. Personally, I have not observed many love bugs north of I-20 in Mississippi. In the larva stage, love bugs serve a beneficial purpose of consuming decaying organic material and, like earthworms, pass it back into the soil. I did not find out how long they exist in the larval stage, but their adult life span is rather short. With the life of a male averaging 92 hours and of a female love bug a mere 72 hours, there is perhaps good reason for them to make good use of their propagation/ procreation time and to mate in flight. Scientists explain that the love bugs do not pose any threat to humans from biting or stinging, but are rough on automobiles. In sufficient numbers their dead bodies can clog the air flowing through a radiator causing engine overheating. Additionally, their remains release enough acid to etch the paint off a car's surface, so it is important to wash their remains off a vehicle as soon as possible. Perhaps there is something of a magnetic appeal between the bugs and cars, since a Florida newspaper reported, "Studies have shown that love bugs, which are members of the March fly family, are actually attracted to cars and trucks. They are drawn to vehicle vibrations and fuel vapors exposed to sunlight, and they prefer diesel fuel over regular gasoline." Presently, I have still one more good reason for living in North Mississippi; the love bugs haven't made it this far north. If we keep having warm winters, love bugs may soon be a force with which we'll have to reckon.
Atlanta High-rise Glass Walls Computer programs and their potential for enhancing productivity have interested me since as early as 1985, when my wife purchased a computer to help her in her private business. My interest in computers soon developed into a hobby. The first working day of January 1990, I assumed a position with Lewis Grocer Company that allowed my hobby to become a part of my vocation. Prior to that time, I had worked for Lewis Grocer as a market manager in their Pontotoc Sunflower Store, then as a Meat Specialist responsible for the meat department sales and profits in several stores. Later, I was a Retail Counselor giving direction and assistance regarding the profitability of the entire store operations for a larger group of retailers. My job title has changed since 1990, but my work remains relatively unchanged. I now assist retailers with computer systems and the software they use to help manage their business. In 1991 I was invited by a major cash register company to attend an event they were sponsoring in Atlanta. Since the cash register folks were paying the motel bill, my company gave its permission for an associate and me to attend the two-day event. I had been to Atlanta on other occasions, but had never driven in the downtown area where the Westin Hotel was located. Traffic in Atlanta is all you have heard it is, congested, fast moving, and frightening. An old school mate, George Stegall, phrased it well when he said, "Atlanta is the only city, in which I have ever driven and had to slow down after getting outside the city limits." The Westin Hotel was impressive, indeed. It rose about seventy stories and was shaped like a cylinder. The exterior was mostly glass. Inside the building a series of walkways and ramps allowed foot traffic across vast expanses high above the ground floor, giving the walker the feel of walking on air. The buildings main elevators were centered in the cylinder, and a corridor surrounded the elevators providing access to guests' rooms. My room was on the sixty-seventh floor. From my earliest childhood memories I have longed to be able to see afar. I remember climbing as high as I could in a tree to gain a better view of my surroundings. I have climbed the highest hills and overlooks in my hometown and surrounding communities in hopes of a grand view. I always wanted to climb up a forest ranger's "fire tower," but never did. I remember visiting relatives in the Baptist Hospital in Memphis and marveling at the sights of the city from a window twenty stories high. As a teenager, I did not fear heights, but gradually during my young adult years, I became increasingly cautious about heights and am now unable to watch a movie such as "Cliffhanger." I once tried to watch "Cliffhanger," but bailed out in the first half-hour after a bungled rescue attempt sent a female climber plunging to her death. Even now as I type the text of this article I can sense the moisture building up in my hands. I am also apprehensive whenever I have to cross the Mississippi River for fear of a barge striking a piling about the time I get on the bridge or of the bridge collapsing due to an earthquake tremor. I even worry that another vehicle may slam me over the railing and into the swirling waters below. When crossing a river, I concentrate very hard on getting to the other side and spend almost no time enjoying the view. All of my prior experiences with heights failed to fully prepare me for what I would experience at the Westin Hotel. Exiting the elevator on the 67th floor I made my way along the circular corridor to my room, and entered a pie shaped room that was nicely furnished. Upon setting down my luggage and hanging up the garment bag, I walked over to the expanse of curtains across the room. It never dawned on me that behind the curtains there was no wall, only glass windows. Motels are just modified houses, or so I thought, and like houses motels have walls and in the walls are windows. Such was my thinking prior to visiting the Westin Hotel. I searched for and found in the center of the curtains the means to open them. Grasping a curtain in each hand, I thrust my arms apart in one grand sweeping motion and found myself momentarily standing on the ledge of the 67th floor. It certainly felt as though I were on the ledge because the glass windows went from the floor to the ceiling. Only a thin wall of glass separated me from the pavement nearly seven hundred feet below. I had little time to think about my situation. Instead my survival instinct took over, and I felt myself being hurled backwards from the window. I may have fallen. I may have simply stumbled as I retreated from the window. I really don't know. Sheer panic probably blotted from my memory what really happened. I can tell you, that, in order to close the curtains, I had to crawl over to the window. I could not bear to walk that close to the edge. Later, I discovered that I could open the curtains without falling backwards, if I did so by opening one curtain at a time and without getting too close to the windows. I was able to appreciate the spectacular view afforded by the building's height, but I was never able to stand within arms-length of the open window. It was indeed a strange feeling that I had the first morning I awoke in the room and looked out the window to see clouds passing by. On the second night of my stay at the Westin, my co-worker tried to coax me into riding the glass elevator up the side of the building to the top floor, then back down. I pretty much had my courage up until I stepped into the elevator and discovered it was glass on three sides. I might have been able to make it if it only had one glass side, but I could not handle the challenge and chose to wait for him. Several minutes passed until my co-worker returned, pale as a ghost, and stated, "You'd better be glad you didn't ride with me. That was pretty scary." I knew I had made the right choice for me, but it was good to hear someone else affirm that choice. Whatever thrill folks get from great heights is something I cannot understand, and unless they issue wings in Heaven, I doubt I'll be searching out the high places there.
Bodock Beau Concerning The South Beau asked me to find a spot for the following submission from Jim Hess of Vicksburg. Jim sent a newspaper clipping containing a few favorite comments, concerning the South, collected by Gordon Cotton, curator and director of the Old Court House Museum in Vicksburg. The following were found in the Vicksburg Evening Post, dated 9/12/99.
Cotton states his favorite comment stems from a southern tribute phrased by Edward Ward Carmack of Sumner County, Tennessee. He was a lawyer, a journalist, a congressman, and a senator. There's a statue of him on the Capitol grounds in Nashville. Carmack wrote:
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love and bug, at least three things images come to mind. First,
I remember an old song from the fifties or the sixties that spins out the
phrase, "They say a love bug will get you at the age of forty-three; I ain't
telling my age, but something's got a hold of me." The artist I associate
with the song is Rosemary Clooney, but my memory may be defective. At the
time the tune was popular, I was a long way from forty-three, but I can remember
thinking that was an odd age for romance. Of course, I didn't know anything
about mid-life crises and was too concerned about finishing high school to
worry over the matter. Naturally, when I turned forty-three, I had no idea
that I was old, and it would be several years later before anyone suspected
I was approaching the status of senior citizen. These days, the folks at
the various Hardee's that I frequent are pretty evenly divided over whether
to grant me a reduced price for coffee that is available for seniors. About
half of the time, I get a discount, though I never ask for one.