| November 06 '04 |
|
| Volume 440 |
Jean Wood Reared
Three Boys Superbly
In 1957, I rode a school bus to and from school on most days. In
that time, children who lived more than one mile from their school were eligible
to ride the bus, others were not, and my family had bought the old Owen Place
on Woodland Street the previous year, thus moving Sara Sue and me, from
Montgomery Street, slightly beyond the one-mile limitation which qualified
us as bus riders.
Our bus route ran to the intersection of Woodland St. and Hwy. 15 Bypass
then turned southward for a few miles picking up children along the way,
until reaching it’s southernmost stop, a graveled road now named Hurt-Wood
road. Cye and Mildred Sneed lived on that road, just off the main highway.
They had two sons, Jim and Bill, but I don’t recall either of them riding
our bus. But, across the road from the Sneeds lived the Woods, Lamar and
Jean Wood, whose two oldest boys, Tommy and Randy, did ride the bus.
Tommy and Randy were quiet and well mannered, especially for elementary aged
children. Randy had large brown eyes that all the teenaged girls thought
were "just precious," and of course, Tommy was handsome even then. They had
a baby brother named Terry, who I’m certain was as good-looking as either
of his older brothers. I can still picture Tommy and Randy standing patiently
and waiting for the bus driver to open the door, and I can see Randy’s
big brown, inquisitive eyes as he and Tommy boarded the bus and searched
for a seat.
None of us on the bus that year gave much thought to the future. Well, maybe
one or two of the seniors might have, but the rest of us were too busy living
day to day, just trying to make it through another day without getting caught
doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing and being punished for
the same. I remember our substitute bus driver stopped the bus at a muddy
turnaround one day and looked long and hard at the situation.
I heard other boys on the bus saying, "You can make it! Go on!"
I even heard myself join the chorus, but I knew, as did everyone else, that
the regular driver had been turning around in the road instead of using the
muddy loop.
When our substitute driver got the bus stuck in the mud, everyone cheered,
but those of us whom he remembered urging him to take the turnaround weren't
exactly cheering when the principal dressed us down for lying to a bus driver.
A day or so later our regular driver was back on the job, and he laughed
when we told him how his substitute got stuck in the mud.
"He should have known better," he chortled.
We knew better, but the temptation to get to school late, with what was always
an excused tardy (late bus) was too much to resist. However, if I could be
transported back to the day the bus got stuck, I’m certain I would see
that neither Tommy Wood nor his younger brother, Randy, had any part in our
deception. They were far too young and far too well behaved to have joined
in our mischief.
The following year, Lamar Wood’s car left the highway about five miles
from his home, as he was returning from a day’s work, and the father
of three of the cutest little boys you’d ever want to see was found
dead at the scene a few hours later. The accident left the whole town in
a state of shock and a community wrapped its arms of love around all of the
family, but especially so for Lamar’s wife and three sons.
Years passed, but Jean didn’t remarry. If she dated anyone, I wasn’t
aware of it. All I really know is that she dedicated her life to being the
best mother possible to her sons. Through the years, I watched Jean’s
boys grow into men and marry and have children, grandchildren for Jean to
pamper and spoil with her own special love.
Some children are like the acorns, in that they don’t fall far from
the tree that bore them. Randy and his family make their home in nearby Verona,
MS, while the families of Tommy and Terry live in Pontotoc.
In her retirement years, Jean worked for Wal-Mart as a cashier. Though I
saw her from a distance at church every Sunday, it was speaking to her in
the checkout lane that was more satisfying to me. Jean always had a ready
smile and warm hello, and not just for me but for all her customers. I’m
not the only shopper to make his or her way over to Jean’s lane when
ready to be checked out.
Jean retired again a few years ago, and I still miss her whenever I’m
in Wal-Mart. I saw her with other family members a few months ago. Her oldest
son, Tommy, is building a house two doors down from me, and she was being
shown around the site. I didn’t get over to speak to her that day, and
I’m sorry I didn’t. Jean Wood died last Sunday, shortly after noon
at the local hospital, following a brief illness.
Jean’s sons are a lot older now than they were when their dad died,
and they probably don’t remember much about the outpouring of love that
a community showered upon them in 1958, but they and their respective families
will surely remember this experience. Pontotoc, as a community, stands tall
on any given day, but when tragedy or grief strike or whenever death takes
away one of our beloved citizens, Pontotoc stands a little taller and glows
a little brighter as her spirit of love emulates her Creator and moves
collectively and individually to comfort those who grieve.
Political
Depression Election Exasperation
For the past several years, I’ve kept my car radio tuned to Mississippi
Public Radio. I have often enjoyed the news programs that last for hours
in both the mornings and afternoons. I’ve appreciated Michael
Feldman’s "What Do You Know," the humorous and informative "Car Talk,"
Garrison Keillor’s "A Prairie Home Companion," and occasionally I hear
a selection of classical music that I actually enjoy. I have a fairly strong
tolerance for biased reporting on the part of national news services, which
is evidenced by my continued listening to "All Things Considered" on National
Public Radio.
Throughout this year, I’ve become weary of NPR’s political emphasis.
NPR thrives on negative reporting of all things political or should I say
Republican. I honestly believe had our nation had a Democrat in the White
House when the war in Iraq was begun, NPR would have squelched anything negative
and concentrated on our successes. However, their approach to reporting on
the war has largely been limited to weekly and sometimes daily reminders
of lives lost among U.S. and coalition forces.
I was tired of the daily doses of reporting on Democratic Presidential hopefuls
long before John Kerry had enough support to assure his nomination at the
Democratic Convention. By accounts largely ignored by NPR, Kerry is a more
liberal senator than Ted Kennedy, also a senator from Massachusetts. The
only folks I know who support liberals are other liberals. Public radio should
be an unbiased media, but it’s not hard to recognize the liberal bias
of NPR in news reporting and commentary.
So for months, I gritted my teeth and bowed to an inner voice whispering
"tolerance" when even after thirty minutes into the programming time on "All
Things Considered," politics remained the news of the day. NPR’s game
plan appeared to be to lead with whichever story could make the Bush
administration look the worst, the war in Iraq, campaign happenings, or the
presidential debates.
Three weeks ago, I stopped listening to National Public Radio out of sheer
frustration with news dominated by politics. In those weeks, I managed quite
well, without NPR, on the long trips home (about 2½ hours) after a day
at the office. One day, I unsuccessfully scanned the airways for Paul
Harvey’s "The Rest of the Story." On a different day, I caught about
a half-hour of enjoyable gospel music on WFCA before the signal got too weak
for good reception. At no point did I find myself missing the news on NPR.
I was in Lake Providence, LA, on the day after the election and heard on
television the news that John Kerry was about to concede the election. That
was the best news I had heard in months, if not all year. I knew who I was
going to vote for long before the Democrats chose John Kerry to challenge
President Bush. Yet, when the outcome of the electoral votes was still uncertain
on the night of the election, I feared we might have to suffer through something
similar to the Florida debacle of four years ago.
I remain amazed by the number of folks who actually believe, George Bush
stole the election from Al Gore or else say the Supreme Court handed him
the election. Had there never been a final tally on the Florida vote, perhaps
those folks might have a point, but the fact remains, when the last vote
was counted, George Bush defeated Al Gore in Florida and thus gained the
electoral votes required to legitimately lay claim to the presidency. If
that’s theft, then it’s theft sanctioned by the Constitution.
Shortly after four o’clock in the afternoon, I selected MPB on my radio
dial, knowing that NPR’s All Things Considered would be on the air.
I was simply curious as to how my liberal friends were reacting to the news
of the day. I was disappointed to hear they had changed very little and someone
even mentioned how Bush stole the election in 2000, and there was talk of
a nation divided, even though John Kerry had urged his followers toward national
unity.
I was tolerating the news well enough until NPR’s senior news analyst,
Daniel Schorr, salivated over exit poll statistics, which he offered as proof
positive that we remain a politically divided nation, with "a solid Republican
South plus the Plain states and a Democratic fortress in the Northeast."
He mentioned Bush’s strength among Protestants and Kerry’s ten
to one margin over Bush among Blacks. In an obvious attempt to downplay the
popular vote, in which for the first time since 1988, a president received
more than 50% of the popular vote, Schorr ended with, "Somewhere in this
welter of angry and passionate voters, voting their anger, you may be able
to find a second-term mandate. I can’t."
To Daniel Schorr, I say, "Here’s my hand, sir. Come over to our camp.
You can bask in our collective glow, and in time, you may even enjoy our
company. After all, our camp practices tolerance more so than politics."
I turned off the radio after Schorr’s commentary, not because I could
tolerate no more of the programming, but because it doesn’t take as
much liberal bias to do me as it does for some folks. As a matter of fact,
I’ll slowly work my way back among the listeners to NPR. I just don’t
care to get there too quickly, as they’ll take some time to recover
from their bout with political depression.
Frances
Remembered Mom's Day 2004
My family has already begun to enjoy the Holiday Season. We’ve had our
first chicken and dressing of the season. There’s reason for our madness,
in that we were celebrating a family tradition. Had Mom survived her bout
with cancer in 1989, some other ailment would likely have prevented her from
being present with us on Sunday, October 24th. Her absence did
not prevent at least two of her children from celebrating what would have
been her 86th birthday.
The next few paragraphs are excerpts from articles written in 2000 and 2002
explaining our family tradition:
Mom might have referred to it as her birthday dinner, but I like to think
she'd okay our calling it Mom's Day. My wife should be credited for our
faithfulness in observing the family day, as she was the first to suggest
we continue a tradition Mom established many years ago and has taken it upon
herself to propagate the festivities.
Some family members question why we don't celebrate a Dad's Day in honor
of our dad, William Henry Carter. I suppose it's because no tradition was
ever established for Dad's birthday. We surely didn't have a cold-weather
food like chicken and dressing in the middle of July. We observed Dad's birthday,
but it was not an event. It never developed into a family tradition. I doubt
Mom ever thought about her birthday celebration becoming a family tradition,
but as time went by it became just that, and since my family is big on
traditions, we continue to observe Mom's Day.
My mother, Frances Crausby Carter, loved the holidays of winter, particularly
Thanksgiving and Christmas. Traditionally, she served up chicken and dressing
for the main course on those holidays. We may have had turkey, also, but
the cornbread dressing was always made using the broth from a baking hen,
never a turkey. Sometimes, deboned chicken was buried in one end of a pan
of dressing, but more often than not it was served separate from the dressing.
For Mom, chicken and dressing was cold-weather food, and none of us ever
remember her serving chicken and dressing in the summertime.
Whenever cool weather began, whether in late September or early October,
Mom started wishing for a taste of chicken and dressing. Somehow, she could
usually stave off the craving until the Sunday nearest her birthday. On that
day we knew it wouldn't matter if cube steaks were on sale or if a particularly
good buy could be found on a rump roast, we could bet on enjoying Mom's chicken
and dressing.
Enjoy it we did, and not only the dressing but everything that went with
it, things such as Mom's holiday congealed salad, candied sweet potatoes,
mashed Irish potatoes (a daily staple that we called creamed potatoes), English
peas, a casserole or two, rolls, and the irresistible Ocean Spray cranberry
sauce "in the shape of the can." There were also one or more cakes and or
pies as well.
As you have read, Mom celebrated her birthday on the Sunday nearest her birthday.
Her birthday fell on October 27th. This year, Barbara chose October
24th as the day to celebrate Mom’s Day. Rayanne brought her
girls over, and because Sarah had to work Sunday morning we planned to have
the birthday dinner shortly after 2:00 p.m, which would also give Rayanne
time to get here after attending church in Belmont.
We kept our meal fairly basic with giblet gravy for the cornbread dressing.
Barbara made chicken and dumplings and Sarah made a corn and green bean
casserole, but forgot to make her favorite frozen dessert, Idiot’s Delight.
Barbara bought a "store brand" cranberry sauce, which lacked the taste and
texture of the Ocean Spray brand. We had creamed potatoes and candied sweet
potatoes, and a coconut cream pie for dessert.
In our rush to get from the buffet line to the dinner table, we forgot to
offer thanks for the meal. My parents weren’t sticklers for giving thanks
at mealtimes, but Mom always insisted we pray at our Thanksgiving and Christmas
meals. I can’t speak for the rest of those present for the recent meal,
but I silently gave thanks for the food and for the mom whose love influences
us even today.
Bodock Beau
Senior Saluted
Imagine the date is June 2005. Just humor me. It’ll make the joke funnier.
An old man approached the White House from across Pennsylvania Avenue, where
he'd been sitting on a park bench. He spoke to the Marine standing
guard and said, "I would like to go in and meet with President Kerry."
The Marine replied, "Sir, Mr. Kerry is not President and doesn't reside
here."
The old man said, "Okay," and walked away.
The following day, the same man approached the White House and said to the
same Marine, "I would like to go in and meet with President Kerry"
The Marine again told the man, "Sir, as I said yesterday, Mr. Kerry
is not President and doesn't reside here."
The man thanked him and again walked away.
The third day, the same man approached the White House and spoke to the very
same Marine, saying "I would like to go in and meet with President Kerry."
The Marine, understandably agitated at this point, looked at the man and
said, "Sir, this is the third day in a row you have been here asking to speak
to Mr. Kerry. I've told you already that Mr. Kerry is not the
President and doesn't reside here. Don't you understand?"
The old man answered, "Oh, I understand. I just love hearing it."
The Marine snapped to attention, saluted, and said, "See you tomorrow."
Shared by Bob Jackson
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