RRN Online Volume 358

April 12 '03

Volume 358

Parole Party Celebrating Freedom

It came in a plain Jerry, Sue, Wayne, Barbara white envelope. There was nothing fancy about it, nothing to hint of the surprise inside. Jerry Young usually emails me, but here I held an envelope from him wondering what he had sent.

"It must be some anti-war material, maybe a joke or two," I remember thinking.

Unfortunately, I don't possess any mystic powers and unlike "The Great Carnac" portrayed by Johnny Carson, I usually don't even get close guessing the contents of an envelope.

Opening the envelope, I found a single sheet of paper, but it was not ordinary typing paper. Instead it was thick, almost as thick as greeting-card stock. (I just paused from writing this to check my memory, but when I got to the refrigerator door, the sheet was no longer there.) There was a message on the paper printed in a shade of blue and in a large bold font.

It read, "You're invited to Jerry's "Gittin' Off Parole Party," and included the necessary details, of date, time, and place.

"Definitely not your average party," I mused.

Jerry Young and I have a relationship that goes back fifty years. We were in the same Sunday School class, the same grade in school, had several common interests, and, as such, formed a good friendship in our youthful years. However, as one may surmise from the invitation, Jerry, at a point in time, ran afoul of the law. His is a story I hope to share with readers one day, but in this article it should be sufficient to note only that he served time in prison, paid his debt to society, has a job working for a highly respected attorney in Tupelo, and obviously has now successfully fulfilled the conditions of his parole.

As a news hound, I felt I couldn't pass up the opportunity for a good story. As a friend, I wanted to be supportive. Either would have been a good excuse to attend the gala event, but believing Margaret DeMoville would also be there was a stronger drawing card for me. Margaret, if you don't know, is a charming individual, the epitome of a "Southern Belle" in poise, speech, grace, and beauty. I can't remember the thread that connects Jerry with Margaret, but I remember once Margaret telling me her mother and Jerry's mother were friends.

On the day of the party, Barbara suggested I shop for a card to present to our hosts for the evening. At the time she mentioned it to me, it was too late to locate a Hallmark shop, so I perused the card aisle at the local Wal Mart. I doubt even Hallmark prints a card for an occasion such as Barbara and I were soon to attend, and I can vouch for the fact that Wal Mart doesn't have one. Nonetheless, I found a generic congratulatory card the front of which sported a field of spring flowers and the blank inside portion offered plenty of room to pen a comment.

We left earlier than necessary, but not having been to Jerry's home before, we allowed time for missed turns and backtracking. I had printed a map pinpointing the street, but I failed to keep a copy of the exact address. We thought we had found the place when we spotted party balloons tied to a mailbox along the street, but the house number didn't ring true with either of us, so we kept driving. We were pretty sure the address was in the four-hundred block, but we didn't see the correct address until we had begun to backtrack after determining we had driven too far. We still weren't sure we had the right place until Sue Nabors came to the front door to welcome us.

Inside, we found that Jerry and Sue had done a great job in decorating their home. Sue is a collector of antique cookie jars, and we saw them in almost every nook and cranny. As I sit typing this article in the claustrophobic confines of my five by eight computer room I remember being envious of Jerry's large study. Though, she hasn't mentioned it, I think Barbara is envious of the tanning bed Jerry showed us in a guest bedroom.

The inside of their home impressed us with its inviting and relaxed atmosphere, but the backyard blew us away. In the short time they have had the house, the backyard has been transformed by a huge new deck that cascades down the hillside past a beautiful retaining wall and stops at an in-the-ground pool. A portion of the backyard is enclosed with cypress fencing and both the pool house and adjacent motor room have a cypress exterior. I'm no lumberman, but I think I’m right about the material being cypress. Beyond the fence, the remainder of the property rose gently up the opposite hillside, and was well kept. Had the early evening temperatures been more moderate, more of us would have kept to the deck to enjoy the beautiful view.

An abundance of food was spread on table and countertops inside the kitchen. I remember sampling boiled shrimp, making myself a pumpernickel-turkey-and-ham sandwich, downing one of those pinwheel styled sandwiches (the type that generally look better than they taste), gobbling a couple of hot-wings, and later having a piece of the birthday-type sheet cake. There were probably twenty-five or thirty other food items, with enough variety to satisfy practically any guest, but I didn't want to make a pig of myself.

I must have met most of the folks who work in the law office with Jerry, and each one was cordial. If I hung around them more often, I might be persuaded to change my opinion of the legal profession, but how likely is either premise?

In the two-plus years Jerry has worked with the legal firm, he has won their hearts. He’s an unabashed fan of his boss, Jim Waide. With his knowledge of computers and his prior experience with online legal research, Jerry has been instrumental in bringing the Internet into the daily routines of his coworkers. Jerry cannot practice law, but he can write legal briefs for others to present. From what I could observe, Jerry is a highly respected employee of the firm.

The admiration of his coworkers was recently manifested in a party they threw in his honor, something they called "Jerry Day." Everyone wore a Jerry Day T-Shirt that had Jerry’s picture on the back of it with the words, "1st Annual Jerry Day March 12, 2003," and the inscription on the front pocket proclaimed "Proud member of the Waide World Jerry Young Fan Club."

That a law firm took time out of their day to honor one of their own in such a unique way certainly impressed me. They had also planned to wear their Jerry Day T-Shirts to the "parole party" but only one individual remembered to bring hers.

At the time Barbara and I left the party, I had met every guest. Many were members of the law firm, but one was a judge, one was a business man, one worked for the Gaming Commission, one was a doctor, a few were nurses, and some were family members. I would estimate the total number of guests at around fifty.

My expectation of meeting Margaret DeMoville was also realized. Margaret entered my life a little more than a year ago, via her association with Jerry Young. Through Jerry, she learned of my newsletter, and after reading several issues on the Internet wrote to share her interest in my hobby. I quickly added her to the list of readers.

I have known Margaret as the debutant from Okolona, MS, the small town that birthed a lot of my childhood memories, though Margaret would not have been more than a toddler at the time I lived in Okolona. I later learned that Margaret knew most of the Okolona folks I could name from my childhood recollections. While, I also knew that Margaret was once the Homecoming Queen at Mississippi State and I had seen her pictures in area newspapers, I had never actually met her.

Meeting someone who appreciates my newsletter is always a pleasure, and it was good to hear Margaret comment on her enjoyment of this newsletter. If my head seems a little larger than normal, my step a little lighter, you’ll understand why.

There were two pianos against the same wall in the den. When I teased Jerry about having two pianos and not being able to play them at the same time, he commented, "Sue plays, too."

Picking up on his queue, I quizzed, "She can play two…at the same time?" but it went right over his head.

"No," he explained, "she plays one at a time."

He didn’t note my humor, but a coworker seated on the hearth, smiled and nodded knowingly at my pun, as she mouthed, "I got it."

Later, Sue told me that Jerry had been working on a piano tune. He and Sue both play the piano by "ear."

When we were in high school Jerry began learning to play the piano. In those years, he got good enough that he played in Jim Weatherly’s band. It took some encouraging in getting him to play the piano at the parole party, but Jerry was gracious enough to perform. He played and Sue followed. I should have asked if the composition had a name, but I didn’t, and Barbara and I left soon afterwards. Nonetheless, the sound of the music was grand and the thunderous applause that followed was grander.

In life, persons sometimes make mistakes. I believe it’s in the best interest of society to judge others not so much by their mistakes but rather how they handle the consequences of their mistakes. It’s still true that trials in life can make you bitter or they can make you better. I’d like to think that Jerry Young is a better person today than he’s ever been.

Perhaps, Jerry summed up the parole party best in a recent email stating, "I know it was an unusual reason to have one, but in a way the party made a statement: I not only survived, I'm doing well."

April Surprise By Barbara Carter

Glenda Corley has a memory like an elephant and a heart as big or bigger than one, so when she called me on Monday, March 24, and asked for my and Wayne's help in planning a surprise party for Bro. Joe Steen, I wasn't the least bit shocked. She asked us to invite Bro. Joe and Fr. Pete Peterson, with whom Bro. Joe shares a house, out to dinner on Tuesday evening, April 1. We were to not say where we would go, but just drive to the Corley's house in Water Valley. Also, Glenda wanted me to invite some of the Habitat friends in Pontotoc to join us in surprising Joe.

It sounded like a good plan and Wayne and I were eager to be a part of the opportunity to visit our friends in Water Valley again. The Corley's were serving at First United Methodist Church, Pontotoc, when I came back to work on Interfaith Storm Relief and Habitat. As a matter of fact, Bro. Ken Corley was on both boards and Glenda joined in lots of the activities as well. Last year they were reassigned to the Methodist Church in Water Valley, causing us to miss many opportunities of being with them throughout the year.

I started calling folks to see if they could join us on April 1, and to get everything in place for the party from this end. All was going well until Wayne's boss emailed him about a meeting to be held early on April 2 in Louisiana. Much to Wayne's dismay he would not be able to attend Joe's birthday party. This also meant we had to come up with another way to get Joe to Water Valley without arousing suspicion.

Tommy Pound, one of Pontotoc's rural mail carriers and a participant in some of the service programs in the County, came to the rescue. He needed to go to Water Valley to pick up some birdhouses that Bro. Ken Corley had built for him, so he asked Bro. Joe to ride with him. That worked out fine, we were back on track, and Bro. Joe apparently suspected nothing.

Not only does Glenda remember birthdays and figure out ways to do things for her friends, she is also a wonderful cook. Glenda planned a buffet dinner for about fifteen of us to celebrate Joe Steen's birthday. Several times when we would count heads before the day of the celebration, Glenda would say, "Anywhere between ten and one hundred will be fine." Glenda served a spread you would not imagine. It consisted of chicken breast and dried beef, a beef and noodle casserole, pork tenderloin, green beans, creamed corn, creamed potatoes, baked beans, baked apples, fruit salad, an okra, green bean, pickle relish tray, homemade rolls, soft drinks, tea, coffee, and water. For dessert she had made a Habitat-theme birthday cake, complete with MANY candles, peanut butter cheesecake, Italian cookies, and three types of ice cream.

We very much enjoyed our eating and visiting, but we weren't through with Bro. Joe until he opened gifts and cards. Among the gifts Bro. Joe received was a wooden bowl and a feather duster, which like so many happenings with the Corley's, "has a story behind it."

Wayne and I gave Bro. Joe a large black garbage bag, tied up with a big red bow, filled with empty aluminum cans and an aluminum can crusher. This, too, "has a story behind it."

The best part of the evening was that we managed to surprise the honoree, and we all enjoyed spending a fun evening in the home of and visit with good friends.

Joe Steen's birthday is actually April 2. Happy Birthday, Joe!

Bodock Beau Texans Play For Keeps

Texans are a proud bunch who sometimes rile us with their "Don't mess with Texas" attitude, but sometimes they make us proud, too.

Three strangers at a small air terminal in the Texas Panhandle, are awaiting their flight. One is a Native American Indian passing through from Oklahoma. Another, a local ranch hand on his way to Fort Worth for a stock show. The third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived at theTexas oil patch from the Middle East.

To pass the time they strike up a conversation on recent events, and the discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. Soon the Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout radical Muslim. The conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowpoke leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his eyes. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds, and the old windsock flaps in the breeze

Finally, the Native American clears his throat and softly speaks, "Once, my people were many, now we are few".

The radical Muslim raises an eyebrow and leans forward, "Once my people were few," he sneers, "and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"

The Texan shifts the toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson drawls, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet..."

Submitted by Cheryl Radford

Can You Relate?

Long ago when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called witchcraft. Today, it's called golf.
Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age and start bragging about it.
The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.
Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know "why" I look this way. I've traveled a long way and some of the roads weren't paved.
How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?
When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of Algebra.
You know you are getting old when everything either dries up or leaks.
One must wait until evening to see how splendid the day has been.
Ah, being young is beautiful, but being old is comfortable.
Old age is when former classmates are so gray and wrinkled and bald, they don't recognize you.
If you don't learn to laugh at trouble, you won't have anything to laugh at when you are old.
First you forget names, then you forget faces. Then you forget to pull up your zipper, then... Oh my goodness, you forgot to pull your zipper down!
If you jog in a jogging suit, lounge in lounging pajamas, and smoke in a smoking jacket, WHY would anyone want to wear a windbreaker?
I don't know how I got over the hill without getting to the top!

Submitted by Bing Crausby

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