7:30

One of the first jobs I ever had was working at a pre-cast concrete construction company. They made pieces for buildings all over the region. My job was on a loading crew. The work was typical mindless movement for a few bucks an hour.

The only thing about the job I enjoyed was the people. I would arrive at 6:15 every morning to punch in. I had to stand in line with the other guys to wait my turn at the clock, this is where I began to get to know my coworkers.

Most of them didn't bathe much and I was treated to speech that I thought no one over the age of fourteen still engaged in. These guys were disgusting. They would speak constantly about spending their entire paychecks on weed and beer, then bitch and complain about being broke the following Monday. The topic they seemed to enjoy most was their breeding habits. I spent many days in line clocking in and out wondering what type of women would allow these guys to do the sort of things they would talk about. (it wasn't until many years later that the question was answered when I began working at a sewing plant with forty some odd women, and saw several of the guys I worked construction with coming to pick them up...) Trust me, I have worked construction with lots of men, and at that sewing plant with lots of women... Men do not hold a candle to women when it comes to being disgusting. I stopped more times in that sewing plant just to shake my head than I did at any other place I have ever been.

When it became obvious I would find nobody to speak with at the construction company I did my usual thing and listened. In that way I came to know several men that would influence me throughout life. There were four older guys that worked there that the other people referred to as the "work horses." They didn't complain, they just plodded along each day with whatever they were told to do.

The first one I met was an old guy that everybody called Boot. Boot was the smelliest person I have ever encountered. His aroma was a mixture of sweat and sewage. He always wore his hardhat, he had it on when he got there and kept it on all through lunch and left with it on each day. Boot and I were working together one afternoon when he took his hat off to wipe sweat off of his face. I was shocked to see that his afro had a perfect bald ring in it around his head where his hat sat. Being a straightforward person, I just asked him, "Boot, if your hat pulls your hair out like that why don't you wear a shower cap like the rest of the guys do with afros?" He just laughed and told me he was too old to worry about such shit as that. He went out of state on a job once with several of the guys and the supervisor that went with them told them that he was going to buy them all a big steak dinner on the last night of the project. He said to boot, "Boot... you're making my eyes water. I'm going to pull into this drugstore, and you are going in there and get some deodorant and when we get back to the hotel you're going to take a shower and put some on before we go out to eat." Well boot came out with a little paper bag and spoke nonstop about the good smelling stuff he got at the store. It wasn't until he got out of the shower, took the good smelling stuff out of the bag and began to put it on that anyone realized that it was carpet fresh....

Baker was another of the old guys I came to know. He was quiet and walked with a limp that he picked up fighting in the Vietnam war. Baker was a sandblaster, he would spend all day walking back and forth on a cat walk sandblasting huge stones while wearing a helmet and plastic suit so he wouldn't get covered with sand. I thought it was the worst job there until they let me try it with him for a few days. The helmet was air conditioned and had a radio in it, so Baker told me stories about Vietnam all day as we sanded each piece they put in front of us. I learned a lot from him.

Milt was the weird one. He had just a few teeth and never shaved. His voice reminded me of Scatman Crothers and he seemed friendly enough, yet he always worked alone. He never spoke to anyone at all. He was famous for getting into an argument with a teller at the local bank when she wouldn't cash his check one Friday. He had ripped the stub off his check and thrown it out of the window of the car on the way to the bank, only to discover once he got there that he was trying to cash the stub and had tossed his actual check earlier... I was pulled off of a job one day and was told that I was going to a site in Atlanta with Milt to fix some things on a building. We wound up on the Peachtree Plaza... Right on top... We were tasked to repair the concrete joints between the windows on several floors. I had to slide off the top of the building down to the scaffold before I could attach the safety harness, that was not fun. I spent several days up there with Milt and he kept to himself, I said little to him. The next time we were in the yard I asked the supervisor why I was going with Milt when I wasn't trained to do that type of work. His response was, "Everybody else is afraid of him, you're low man on the totem pole, so you drew the short straw." Then he walked away, leaving me nervous. The next day I couldn't help myself so I asked Milt, "I heard that the other guys were afraid of you.. Why is that?" He never looked at me when I asked him, he just kept right on working and said, "I had to kill a man once, so they're scared of me." I never asked him about it and never found out what happened, but after that day we spoke each time I saw him.

Beaman was the guy I liked. He could not read or tell time, yet had worked construction his entire life, putting each one of his children through college. His daughter had bought him a really nice watch once and he wore it proudly. Whenever anyone walked past him during the day they would always ask, "What time is it Beaman?" He would look at his watch and say the same thing each time, "Seven thirty." My older brother David was a supervisor there and once met a guy in the parking lot to buy some goats from him. Beaman, from that moment on, called him goat man. The day I started working there I was being introduced to him and he said, "What you know good fat boy?" That is how he greeted me each day from then on... He told me a story one day during lunch about a guy that worked there for years... "That crazy motherfucker was the nastiest sumbitch you ever met. Never did eat right, God damn nasty shit... He would bring one of those big ass cans of beanie weenie with him every week. He would eat some of it, then leave it out in the shop and put a napkin on it... The next day he would scrape off the hard part and go right back to eating it, with the same fucking spoon.... Did that shit for years.. No wonder the dumbass died of food poisoning..." He kept me laughing constantly when I worked with him.

Beaman still haunts me in several ways. Many years ago at a family gathering we were talking about playing with a Ouija board. The fad had taken hold a few months prior to that and was all the rage at the time. My cousin and older brother kept talking about it while we were eating and my cousin asked if we had one. I told her that I had several and she began bugging us to go see what we could find out about whoever we had been talking to. We all went downstairs and the two of them set up the board between them and began asking questions. The planchette began its usual slide around the board and was saying things about how it was dark there, but they were happy. David and I were standing in the back of the room listening to the conversation when the question, "Who are you?" was tossed out...

Everything that they were writing down was difficult to decipher because it was all misspelled. The answer to the last question was "bemen" David and I looked at each other. David said, "Ask him if he knows anybody in the room." The answer that came back was "gotman" and then "ftboy" everyone else in the room was confused. I was afraid of what was going on. I worked up the nerve and simply said out loud, "What time is it?" The planchette began to move...

"730"

David and I both walked out. We went down the hall and into the other room by the fireplace and stood there for a few minutes. There were several times that I almost spoke, but I kept quiet. Then I just said, "What the hell was that all about?" David looked at me and said, "I got a call last week, Beaman died.."

That was the last time that I was involved with a Ouija board. I have made a few, but have never used one since.

Big Bobby Baseball

I was tossed back in time today to when I was twelve years old. I was attending Arnco Sargent Elementary and in the seventh grade. Like all of us I look back on that period of life as a magical experience, when time didn't matter and a single afternoon could take forever to go by.

There are a few memories that stand out, floating around in my mind from that time. They all revolve around the group of guys that I hung out with. There was Britt, David, Russell, and Brian.

Britt was the no nonsense guy that didn't mind hurting you... anything for a laugh. I walked up once and they were all sticking the toes of their shoes in a mud puddle, then slinging muddy water on people... Like kids do. Britt hit me a few times and I decided it called for action. I dipped my shoe in the mud, then slung it in his direction and promptly fell on my ass, right in the middle of the huge lake of a mud hole. I was covered in slimy goo from my shoulders to the backs of my knees. I remember doing the slow walk of shame to the office as people pointed and laughed... When I informed the office minion that I needed to call my mother to take me home to change clothes she looked me up and down, replying, "What for? You look fine to me." Her voice just dripping with exhausted "I'm sick of kids" attitude. I remember Britt standing behind me doing that silent laughing thing as I slowly turned around to reveal my embarrassment to an office full of women and sick kids. The entire room was then filled with that same snorting sound that Britt was making in front of me. I just looked at the ceiling until she said, "Yep.. You need to call your mom."

David always reminded me of Gene Wilder from Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory. Everything he said made me laugh. I picked up the usage of sound effects from David. To this day I can't tell a story about something without adding voices and sounds to it. He taught me the finer points of picking a spot on a windshield as the cross hairs and using the imaginary guns hidden in the transport to shoot at things as you go down the road. I still find myself doing that I as I drive. We went to see Smokey and the Bandit with him at the Alamo theater... I still can't believe that a human being could get that much popcorn up his nose...

Russell was sort of a mixture of different characters. He always had his homework done and was there everyday, he was smart... But there was something about him that screamed deviant... I could never put my finger on it... We were doing prank phone calls late one night to random numbers, a plague that was stopped with the invention of caller ID... We were doing the one where you called and explained that you were with the phone company and that there was a problem with severe static electricity in the lines and not to answer the phone for an hour or so, or you would shock whoever was calling. Then you would call back in a few minutes and when they answered, you would scream loudly into the phone like you were being electrocuted... Hey.. we were kids... We got to the point of doing the call back, which was my part. When they answered I began to scream and was promptly cussed up one side and down the other.. I recognized the voice as my eardrums were being blistered... I just sat quietly listening to the stream of obscenities for a while and then said, "Russell? Is that you?" He said, "Clay?" Then we had a long conversation.. "Hey man, what are you up to?" "Well nothing much.." That was over summer vacation one year and we hadn't seen him since school let out.

Brian lived near David and was hilarious as well. He would get going telling you about something and you would get lost as he spoke, but you always laughed. He was scary smart as well. He was in the spelling bee one year and went pretty far, he may even have won, but I can't recall. He had the country accent in the group. I mean, we're all from Georgia, so when I say that, it was country with a capital C. We would argue about the pronunciation of words... He held adamantly to his point that you said bicycle... So why not pronounce cycle that way in motorcycle, and not the correct way.. He had a point. He once drew a little oscar award next to a picture I drew in the corner of a piece of paper of a guy throwing up. It was a realistic black and white affair, complete with vomit coming out of the nose of the subject.. He took one look at it and said, "That gets the award for the grossest thing ever drawn." Then proceeded to pencil in the oscar statue.. I still have that scrap of paper..

We used to reenact comic strips from mad magazine during lunch period, on the table using our fingers as the legs for imaginary characters walking around, all rather profane, it always went that way at that age. We watched the clock and timed how long we could each hold our breath, and then have the inevitable argument about whether or not it was allowable to release your breath during the contest. We had the grandest time when the second hand on the clock was loose for a few months. We would watch it circle the top and then swish down fast to hang at six until it was picked up again to start it's trip all over... Yes we were simple...

Brian used to wear an orange hunting coat with patches sewn on it. David was telling us about how they had gone bird hunting the day before and that he had the pockets of the coat filled with dead birds... He told us that as Brian was standing in line for seconds in the cafeteria... When he got back to the table he was holding several things, spread them out on the table and then reached into his pocket to pull out a block of that lovely red jello you got at school.. "I didn't have any more hands, they were full.." I watched in awe as he ate the jello.. His respect factor went way up that day, I mean, come on.. dead bird pocket jello? That's cool...

We had to do an oral report one year. Brian did his on making corn liquor. He got up in front of the class and went rapid fire through his report, complete with diagrams and explanations of each step of building and operating a moonshine still. It was like being at a pentagon briefing. When he was finished he sat back down as all the kids stared at him... The teacher shook her head as she leaned forward writing his grade down and said, "Well, he certainly knew what he was talking about." I still remember the wide eyed looks on the faces in class as he said things like, "You have to wait until just right time to add the... You don't want it tasting too..." That was the same teacher that leaned over to me during the parade of students in the gym showing off their costumes at halloween one year... "Is he dressed as a.." "Yes, yes he is..." I went trick or treating with them that night and had the most fun I ever had on halloween...

The best occurrence of uncontrollable laughter I've ever experienced was because of Brian. We were doing a skit in front of the class at OP Evans Jr. High. Our skit was to be of a television news cast. Brian was to do the sports... He wrote the skit and when he was cued to start his part, he yelled out, in the most bizarre voice, "Hey sports fans this is Big Bobby Baseball coming at you with the sports..." Then his face went completely red and he began to laugh... Not one person in that class could recover. The skit was over... I still think about that from time to time and smile...

I would love to sit down in a restaurant for a three hour meal with those guys now.. I wonder how long it would take us to fall right back into what we were then...

For that few precious years between fourth and around ninth or tenth grade we saw each other every day. We made fun of each other, fought, laughed, and began our long journeys into adulthood together. We cussed like sailors and put no thought into what lie ahead, we were young and invincible, nothing bad could ever happen to us...

Carving for the gulf...

The gulf oil spill has and is decimating the ecology and and lives in the region. It isn't much, but I am going to begin selling carvings and then sending all of the money directly to families in the region. This is a difficult thing to do, its very hard to first find people in the gulf region that are hurting and get in touch with them directly. I'm being very selective about this for personal reasons. This region of our country is being destroyed and the politics of it mean little to me.

Many of these people have no idea where their next meal is coming from, I can not accept that. I am not interested in dealing with any organization, government office or anything of that ilk. I am going to find these people myself, contact them, then sell something and give them the money, simple as that. I want them to get one hundred percent of the money... not any less.

I went through many emails and phone calls but have finally found a family that has worked on fishing boats for generations. They do not own a boat but work for others that do. Right now they have no income, pride being what it is, they shall remain anonymous. I have spoken in length with them and heard their story and understand what they are going through.

I am placing this dogwood walking stick I carved up for an auction. The walking stick sales for $50... The starting bid is $100

Like I said, it isn't much, but as an American who has loved the Gulf Coast for my entire life, I can no longer engage in bullshit debates over fault, or lend time to cynical do nothing people who just don't give a damn. So, what I can do will be done.

If you wish to place a bid on this walking stick email me at crickhollowcarving@gmail.com, call me at 678-423-6541, or click on the Crickhollow Studios Facebook link to your left and contact me that way. We plan on doing this periodically and will include jewelry, walking sticks and other carvings... It's time we all got off our asses and did something to help these people.



I will take bids on this piece until noon Friday, then ship it out that afternoon to the highest bidder...

Happy Father's Day

For my father, Delmos Perry...

Father's day is approaching again. Everyone be on the lookout for cheap gifts aimed toward grilling something or smelling better.

Me? I'm planning on a trip to Ireland to fish and play golf, then spend a few nights in an old inn with a fantastic pub where the locals will treat me with kindness and feed me the best food I've ever eaten. This, of course, will take place shortly after I win the lottery...

This will be my third father's day without my dad. I've been missing him these days and find myself talking to him quite a bit lately.

The thing that hurts my heart is that he has so many grandchildren and great grandchildren that will never know him. I was extremely lucky in that both of my sons were able to meet him. Patrick loved him and James was completely in awe of the man. He knew that Patrick loved his kawasaki mule so he told my mother that he wanted him to have it. I told her the other day that he would be tickled pink to know that James loves that thing as much as he does. I make sure that any kids that come around out here get a chance to ride on it and have spent many hours picking my way through the woods the way dad would to give them a bit of a taste of what he would do.

So.. for your benefit, his progeny, I will tell you kids a bit about him so that he will always be there for you with his wit and wisdom. So gather around and take a seat....

He was born In Sargent Ga. on August seventh 1934, in a little house by the railroad tracks behind what used to be a store. His childhood was one of hard work that he didn't shy away from. His parents both worked for the cotton mill in Sargent and raised most of the food they ate. He had daily chores that he would do and was always counted on to fulfill these duties. He never failed. That was him, serious, responsible, loyal, and completely faithful. He never once missed a day of school. That's true, he went for twelve years and did not miss one day. He would always get to school early when he first started and would fill the coal buckets to keep the place warm. He did whatever job there was for the teachers he had to keep them happy and make their day easier. Cleaning erasers, taking out garbage, anything that was asked of him he would do. When he finished school he married his girlfriend and stayed with her for the next fifty four years. He went to school and learned Morse code, which he used in a job he had for a while. He worked for a company that sold printing equipment for over forty years. He worked his way up through the corporation to be regional service manager. He was in charge of service technicians for the southeastern United States. The employees there all liked him and the customers loved him, he was fair and decent to everyone. The hours didn't start until eight o'clock, but he would leave home at five thirty in the morning and have coffee made and everything ready to go as soon as the doors opened. He never complained too loudly when he would get treated poorly at work and managed to take everything in stride. He provided for his family and made sure that if they needed or wanted anything they got it. He would go to stores in Atlanta and put Christmas gifts on layaway, and pick them up on Christmas Eve when he would pay them off completely. He loved children and family above all else, to be surrounded by family was one of his greatest pleasures. He always made sure that any babies that came along would get spoonfuls of coffee and collard green pot-liquor while sitting on his lap. He was kind, fair, stern, respectful, loyal, faithful, and true to his word. He was first and foremost an American, he loved his country and would tear up when the national anthem was played. His blood was that of a southerner. He loved this region of the country to his dying day. He took pride in anything southern. I still get chills whenever I hear a slow version of Dixie being played. He was a voracious reader and was the smartest man I ever knew. He went to the same church for over forty years, was a deacon and Sunday school teacher and sometimes would preach from the pulpit. He loved his wife and respected her, he never gave her fits about anything she wanted to do. He kept his word, and he kept his faith...

Now, that's what he was, that's where he came from and how he lived. Lean in a bit closer and let me tell you a few other things about him...

He had a temper.... To quote his brother, Donald.. "Delmos was a mean SOB when we was coming up.. He would just as soon shoot you as look at you when we were kids..." He would get mad and come after you in a split second if you did anything wrong. When his hair would drop down in front and hang over his eye you knew to get the hell away from him.... He could deliver a spanking like you wouldn't believe... He would start yelling and running around, it was a fearsome sight. So you towed the line when you were a kid buddy.. you did not want any of that... If you heard the dreaded statement, "Go cut me a switch..." you were doomed, and you knew it.

He loved the ladies.... He was one of the biggest flirts I have ever met. The women that worked with him would do anything he wanted. He never wasted a chance to chat up a pretty girl. Indeed.. he flirted with my wife before I even met her, and hundreds of times after we were married...

He loved hunting and guns... He was the best shot with a handgun or rifle I've ever met. He could fish and hunt without batting an eye. When I was a kid I would watch him field dress a deer or gut a fish in quick order and then flinch when he would turn my way, hand me a knife and say, "Now you do it.. just like I did.." Not a deer season went by that he didn't meet his limit.

He had a passion for loud noises... Whether it was wiring up loudspeakers to blast Cherokee music down through the woods from his shop, building a cannon to fire off at ungodly hours, wiring in a horn that played Dixie on his car, singing as loudly as he could, setting off fireworks, or simply creating explosions for no reason, you always knew where he was around the house.

He loved to argue.... He knew everything, so most times he won any debate or argument.

He was a history buff.... He knew the history of human civilization like an encyclopedia. He could tell you in detail about every battle that America fought in every war we were ever in. He could answer every question on jeopardy without even looking up from his crossword puzzle. He could recite the Declaration of Independence word for word.

He was meticulous... You never went to a yard sale, flea market, or bookstore with the man unless you planned to be there all day. He had to physically put his hands on everything there. He knew the truck schedules for big lots and would buy anything if it was a good deal, whether he needed it or not.

He could cuss a blue streak... I've heard him rip loose with a line of obscenities you simply wouldn't believe a human could be capable of.

He was a prankster.. He loved practical jokes and didn't mind going that extra mile to achieve his goal. He once set it up so that he & his brother Donald would appear to fight at a cookout, then he would pull a starter pistol and seem to shoot Donald dead in front of everyone. It worked perfectly... much to the detriment of his behind when his dad found out...

He was a man of extremes.. He would tear up over anything emotional. He would hold his honor and character close. He expected everyone to do right by him and he treated people in kind. If he felt he was cheated he wouldn't hesitate to speak out about it, whether or not he was wrong.

He loved to tell stories... He could keep an audience captive as long as he wanted to, hold them in his hands and take them wherever he felt like going. A powerful speaker, he never missed an opportunity to use this gift. He was plainspoken and would speak the same to everyone, be it a president or a child.

His mind was sharp and his charm evident at all times... I always thought that it was a good thing that he was an honorable man, because he could have given the devil himself a run for his money if he had the inclination..

He was a man of catch phrases... He had one liners that you associated with him over the years and they never fail to make you think of him, especially when you find yourself using them... So if you ever hear us using one of these lines you know where it came from:

We'll all be killed!

Are you deaf?

Come here you good lookin' thing..

He's gone to Chicago...

Well, me and your mama didn't do it, so who broke it...

You can get anything clean with hot soapy water and an sos pad...

Get up! we got a lot to do today..

Boy, you just ain't right...

Hold what you got...

Keep this light on it so I can see what I'm doing...

Ya'll go outside...

Don't turn that channel, I was watching that! (usually when he was sound asleep)

Do it right the first time and I won't make you do it again...

You boys come here... I've got a little job for you to do...

I'll wear you to a frazzle...

So... there you are. You know a few more things about him. Never forget the most important thing about him though... He loved his family. Rest assured, if he could be here with you all this Father's Day, as he was in his prime, he would be right here in the center of this group letting you jump all over him and wrestle with him until he wore you all out. Then he would take you for a ride in the woods that would scare the hell out of you... "I think we can make it through there, no problem..." He would line up cans in the back yard and teach you all how to shoot at them, while making sure you knew exactly how to handle a gun correctly. He would keep you all laughing so hard through lunch that you would forget to eat, then he would get in more trouble than you would, saying, "Yes ma'am" when scolded, then shooting you a quick wink. He would watch a John Wayne movie with you and tell you all about playing cowboys when he was a kid. Then he would take you all out for ice cream and a ride around town, you would be in the back of a truck and he would make sure to go really fast over a few hills, and he would let you sit up on the sides or on the tailgate... Then he would round off the day by sitting around a fire outside with you telling you the most glorious stories you would ever hear about playing as a kid. All the while he would teach you things without you ever knowing he was doing it....

The man was a true master at living life.

Happy Father's Day dad.. I miss and love you.

Dilly bar

I lived at number nine Martin Street in Newnan until I was seven years old. The house was a small place, three bedrooms with a fourth made from a converted carport. There was no central air, one phone line, no cable tv, one bathroom and seven of us living there.

Our social lives consisted of people coming over on Friday nights to play cards with my parents until some ridiculously late hour. We were sent outside to play more often than not, and play we did. That neighborhood was as well known to me as the back of my hand.

We had a little concrete stoop for a front porch. The best memory I have of that porch is when my dad would pick me up so I could see the Christmas lights that were strung from the top of the courthouse on the square down to the four corners near the streets. Not terribly long ago I drove by there, making several rounds to be positive nobody was home, then parked the car and stood on that knee high block of poured stone to see if I could catch a glimpse of the courthouse. I was amazed by how many memories came rushing back when that view appeared before me. I could hear my dad talking as we got out of the car after a run to Dairy Queen for ice creams on hot Summer nights. Those trips always started with him saying to my mom, "Honey, run to town and get me a banana split and a dilly bar..."

He always kept us entertained in the car. My favorite was the time we went to see Smokey and the Bandit at the Alamo Theater... The trip home was hilarious as he was on his CB radio doing a perfect impression of Buford T Justice. He started out by calling for the bandit and he got a bite... They went back and forth for the entire ride home, exchanging every line from the movie.

My uncle George had a small store near Martin Street and we went by there often. He sold gas and whatever he grew in his garden. I don't really remember too much about the place, except that he had an old recliner in the back with a small black and white tv that got nothing but static on it. I was always sent back there when we went by, it was where I waited until they were finished gossiping at the cash register. I would look at uncle G's pipe in the ash tray.. I can still smell that tobacco sometimes.

The kids in the neighborhood were of the usual lot and mixture. There were Summers of skinned knees, bike wrecks, endless games of hide and seek, and lightning bug filled jars. We played many games and held long playing sessions in backyards with toys that I would give anything to have back right now. We had a sandbox.... A sand pile was more accurate, periodically my parents would call somebody then a ton or two of sand would be delivered and piled in the back corner of the yard. I once launched a bike lock on a chain from the top of a freshly laid pile of sand in that corner that my younger brother still bears a knot on his head from... I still remember the whipping I got from that too.. I was banished to my older brothers room until my dad got home from the hospital and then I remember flashes of swinging belts and whimpers of promises that I would never do that again... I simply thought that I could hit him around the knees as he ran across the yard and trip him up...

My sister was up the street once hanging out with all the cool kids. They had set up a ramp in someones back yard and were doing spectacular jumps from it after racing down a hill to gather speed. I was sure I could do the same thing and kept whining about wanting to try it. She was getting annoyed and embarrassed by her little brother so finally yelled at me to do it.. I did... That was the first and last time I ever went over a ramp on a bicycle. I had no idea that you were supposed to pull up on the handle bars... I wasn't sure exactly what the excruciating pain I was feeling was as I laid on the ground in an agonizing fetal position. Through the laughter from the cool kids I heard a few new phrases and gathered that getting my "nuts racked up" wasn't a good thing... That house was on Stallings Street. That was the same street I talked my little brother into riding down on his tricycle at top speed when he was about two or three. Stallings street is all down hill, I think he may still have a few scars from that one too.

The coolest thing was the big grass covered hill at the end of the neighborhood that went down to the parking lot of American Can.... Somebody discovered once that you could slide down that thing on cardboard boxes and damn near hit forty miles per hour once you reached the bottom. We took a slip and slide over there one night... I have a huge scar on my knee from that still, always make sure there aren't any rocks under those things when you lay them out.

My older brother met his wife in that neighborhood when she was hanging on the back of the ice cream truck tossing out free stuff for the kids as it went down the road. He was chasing them shooting at them with a bb gun.

There was this mean little kid that would come and visit family a couple of doors down. I can't remember his name, but that boy was rough. He always caused trouble. He reminded me of Dill from To Kill a Mockingbird, just real nasty... He always boasted about things that we knew weren't true and whenever he was around there was always a fight. We once threw the little "poisoned apples" from the bushes in our front yard at him, causing the neighbor lady to come over there and complain. There was a huge fight as my parents were at work and my sister tried to explain that we did it because he knocked on the door and when she opened it he shot her in the face with a water gun. That lady yelled a lot. We got in trouble and the little boy rubbed it in by riding his bike back and forth in front of our house while standing on the seat laughing at us. He didn't laugh too long... I slipped out there and pulled a branch off that poisoned apple bush and tossed in his spokes as he went by. I will never forget the site of him going over those handle bars. I hid for a long time after that one.

I was in the second grade at Elm Street Elementary when we moved out here to Doc Perry Rd. Mom lied to the school officials and told them that we hadn't moved yet since it was so close to the end of the year. We would ride the bus over there every day and stay with Miss Vassey until mom came by to pick us up after she got off work. That was ok with me because Miss Vassey made the best sweet tea with lemon and tea cakes I've ever had. Plus they grew grapes in their back yard and that was a cool place to play...

The first night we moved out here my grandparents came up from the end of the road, someone went to town and brought back tons of food from McDonald's. We sat in the den upstairs and ate cold french fries and tiny little hamburgers... I couldn't go to sleep that night because a whippoorwill was in the front yard and would not stop calling all night. I had never heard one at the time and it scared me. I spent the entire night afraid that some army of ghosts had laid siege to the house.

I stepped out on the porch here a little while ago and heard a whippoorwill, it's funny how sounds can lead your mind on an aimless ride back through dusty memories of childhood. From a whippoorwill to a little hot crowded house in a southern neighborhood in the mid seventies to a tiny front porch and my dads arms to Christmas lights to Dairy Queen to Smokey and the Bandit to a small cinder block store to pipe tobacco to Summers of kids and games to dearly missed toys to sandboxes to bike locks to bike wrecks to sliding on cardboard boxes to stealing ice creams to a mean kid getting hurt to sweet tea with lemon to moving to cold hamburgers and back to whippoorwills..... All in about thirty seconds...

Jesus, if it wasn't so late I would go to Dairy Queen and get a damn dilly bar. No telling where my mind would take me then.

Sing along Fridays and reading

Each year at school seemed to be worse than the one before and I hated it. That's about as simple as I can put it. Yet, there were bright spots..

Recently I read an article that someone wrote about a fifth grade teacher who's class I was in, Mrs. Faires. The article caused me to take a moment and think about the year I took English from her, or as we called it back then, reading...

Everyone liked her class because on Fridays she always had a big sing along. She would break out a little record player and a collection of 45's she had. I can remember listening to such things as Tom Dooley, Blowing in the wind, and The night they drove old Dixie down... Occasionally she would let people bring in records that we would listen to, I distinctly remember "Le Freak" by Le Chic being played far too many times for my taste... I usually sat around during the sing alongs, owing to a terminal case of shyness, and disdain for large groups of people.

That year three things happened that would change my life forever.

The first thing that happened was the shrine circus. That was the trip when I first heard the mother of all cuss words, the F bomb. We were standing in line waiting to buy useless trinkets from a group of shriners at a table. I had picked out a skeleton tied to a stick with a rubber band. When it came my turn to pay I handed the guy the five dollars my mother had given me for spending money. He was on old guy with greasy gray hair and a limp fez... He took the money, turned to his counterpart and said, "Another f'ing five dollar bill..." I wasn't sure what that meant at the time, but a marked increase in the usage of that word can be traced back to that precise moment, ushering in a period when cussing like a sailor became the norm in the lives of the core group of miscreants I spent time with. I still look upon that evening as walking through the gateway to a misspent youth.

The second thing that happened that year was Russell. He was transferred to Arnco Sargent Elementary after the school year began. We were broken up into groups for reading. They were listed as levels, I can't remember the actual level numbers, but Russell was far ahead of the class. Mrs. Faires made an executive decision. She took a few people from other groups and moved them into Russell's level. This list of achievers included myself, and a few other quiet students. The faith she placed in my abilities that day changed my school career from that point forward. I recall walking a bit taller that day, it was the first time I actually had something happen to me I could brag about to my parents (or even openly let them know about). I wanted to say thank you to her when we left school that day, but ten year old boys don't say such things to teachers, I mean come on.. They were the bane of our existence, except for the principal, they were the last people you actually wanted to converse with.

The third thing that occurred that school year was Mrs. Faires reading to us. I had a few books at the time, my coveted Tolkien set and a few others.... I was continually reading The Lord of the rings, but one day Mrs. Faires announced that she was going to read us a story about the Great Brain. She sat on her desk, pulled out a worn book and began to read. Thus began my journey to a small town in Utah. I can remember impatiently waiting all day until she would read to us, just so I could find out what happened to Tom and his brothers. I sat through those days lost in another world. This was new to me and I was amazed that anything could take the place of Middle Earth in my imagination. I began to realize that this is what reading was all about.... You could actually go on adventures with all sorts of people, not just hobbits.. The next time the book fair came through I asked my mother for a few bucks and picked up The Great Brain while walking through the big van in the parking lot. The picture above is the actual book I got that day, yes I still have it. I put in a standing order with my mother for our Scotts Bookstore trips for any and all of the Great Brain series, and over time I got them all.

I can close my eyes now and see Mrs. Faires sitting there, reading to us. I can hear her using different voices, seeming to actually become the people in Adenville. I sat on the edge of my seat, not being able to imagine what sort of shenanigans Tom would get into next. I spent many late nights after that sitting in my room with that small lamp hanging over the bed, flipping page after page, as I followed Tom all over the place through the series....

I have been asked many times down through the years what teachers influenced me the most. Mrs. Faires is the most given answer for two reasons.. She seemed to have faith in my abilities, and said no more about it, simply expecting me to perform at the level she set. That's the way I like it, "Here... do this and do your best because that's how it's done." The other reason I give her name is that she opened the door to an entire world of adventure for me.

I never mentioned anything to her about this when I was in her class, so I would like to take a moment and thank her...

Mrs. Faires, its thirty three years after the fact and I am sorry for the delay, but thank you for having a little faith in me in the fifth grade, and thank you for taking me on a trip to Tom & JD's house in Adenville... I will never forget that... it's one of the reasons I'm currently surrounded by stacks of well worn and beloved books..

And now, I think will crack open that book and revisit those kids and the magic water closet that doesn't stink... looks like I'm in for another long night...

Sunday dinner

I wait patiently for church to be over with, squirming in the pew, tugging at my clip on tie, staring at the sweaty man standing behind the lectern, wondering when he will finally be finished. I was sure that he had been speaking about my eternal damnation for at least four hours, when in reality it was only about twenty minutes. My dad stopped showing me the time about sixteen minutes ago, after the fourth time I asked.

Surely nobody was evil enough to need this much church going all in one day. I mean come on, Sunday school started at 9:45 and it was now going on 11:45, you would think parents had more sense than to subject a six year old boy to such mess as this. Every time somebody gets up and leaves the service, the sun blazes through the door mocking me, this is horrible...

Then the moon hits the right phase and I spring up, heading to the god awful heat of the car to begin another endless wait. I'm watching my parents talking to other people dressed in uncomfortable clothes, taking the longest route possible to the car. Dad always has to speak to everyone he sees, its like a disease. He seems to enjoy it, he knows everybody. My siblings are all in the car now and I'm digging around trying to gather up my real clothes. I just don't understand for the life of me why you can't be comfortable when you're asking for God to make a place for you in his kingdom... In that light, cut off bluejeans seem a little far down on the list of what God would find important. Dad says its about respect, but mom gives me that look and nod of "I agree with you."

Once we get free of the parking lot at church and can stop waving and smiling, we make the short drive down Macedonia road, hop straight over Roscoe road and begin the uphill climb on Buddy West. Man, I wish we were in the truck so we could sit on the tailgate... A few twists and turns have passed..

There it is, my grandparents house...

We have a little while before they get here, their church must be filled with sinners, they have to stay extra long... I make my way up the side porch and through the kitchen towards the bathroom. I barely notice all of my aunts in the kitchen as they say hey to me... These clothes have got to come off... The bathroom is permeated with the smell of ivory soap and pine-sol and I breathe it in deep as I stuff my good clothes into a bag and toss it on the floor. I run into their living room to look at the old radio I'm not allowed to touch, its permanently tuned to Newnan's station, but I don't know what they are saying, I never listen. I just like the way the radio is shaped, plus its made of wood so it looks neat.

When my brother is dressed he meets me there and we stop by my grandfather's chair to look at his brass spittoon and his "fine" comb as we steal a whiff of his current plug of cannonball chewing tobacco, then we head into the kitchen. The long family table is set with plates and a few food items, but more is coming. There is no use in looking at it until its full of food. We deal with a few cheek pinches as we head out onto the porch, but that's to be expected in a room full of fine christian women.

Once on the porch we decide to hit the forbidden well before more people get there. Its sitting beside the driveway, a huge concrete thing, We pick up a few good rocks as we climb the side of it. On top of the well is an old piece of tin that Pa covers it with. You have to be quick, because if you get spotted by anybody you'll hear "QUIT THROWING ROCKS DOWN THAT WELL... YOU WANT TO CLOG IT UP!?" We listen as the rocks bounce off the side with that eerie echo and finally splash in the water that my older brother told us was at least a thousand feet straight down through that darkness. We make it off the well just as my uncle is turning in the driveway with a carload of cousins.

They pour out the car and start running in all directions, all yelling at the same time. We decide to follow a few of them up to Pa's shop to see what they are doing. We slip in as they are going through stuff. The place is covered in sawdust, that sweet smell is in everything. I look around at tables and tools I don't understand and I see that cool measuring stick. The thing is made out of wood and unfolds... I can spend an hour playing with that thing, its as long as the entire room when you fold it all out...

We then head on out of the shop and to the barn. That is the largest building I've ever seen. I still can't believe my mother used to jump out of that window and land in cotton laying on the ground. Somehow that story always makes me fear her a little bit.. If she can do that.. she is tough. I am stirring in a funnel shaped thing in the dirt looking for the bug that lives at the bottom when I hear a football game in the distance. We spend a while watching all the big kids playing football, we are too little to play until most of them decide to quit and go sit on the front porch to be cool. Now that our necks are superbly sunburned somebody starts yelling from the house and we run back, knowing whats coming.

I run into the kitchen, and stop dead in my tracks. The smell of baked ham hits me like a wet towel and causes my mouth to water. My eyes bulge out while I'm trying to see everything at once. My attention is drawn from one bowl to another and the tension is building when Pa makes his announcement of a prayer... Great, more praying... He can command a rooms attention just by clearing his throat, and I've made it this far today without a whipping so I stand stock still as speaks.

Then the line forms and I begin my planning. Set out on the table is a spread the likes of which will surely never be seen again, so I must choose carefully. Fried okra, corn of all designs, funny looking gravy that will knock you down its so good, a pile of sliced tomatoes next to a pile of sliced vidalia onions, black eyed peas, cornbread, collard greens, fried green tomatoes, lima beans, mashed potatoes, squash casserole, fried sweet potatoes, a mountain of baked ham that is calling to me like a harpy in a storm.... Damn.. I reach over and get one of aunt 'cille's biscuits to eat while I make up my mind. This biscuit is just not right, anything this good has got to be a sin. I have one plain, one smothered in butter, and one with a pound of ham on it while I load my plate with vegetables of all kinds. I go sit on the floor in the front room until one of the adults gets done, then I head to the table to take their spot as I continue to feed...

On the second go around, I notice a whole new pile of food I haven't seen yet. I stare in awe at banana pudding and peach cobbler, pecan pie is sitting down the table and starts to call out to me... I pass by several tall pitchers and gallon jugs of sweet tea towards the other food. I notice several other pies that I can't identify, maybe I'll try one of those later. I have to wait on my uncle to get finished in the peach cobbler. I watch all the tattoos on his arms moving around.. I'm kind of scared of him, he was in the Navy or something and can sound mean... My aunt Mary puts out one those little cigars she smokes as she turns around and starts asking me questions which I barely hear. My hearing is never good when I'm around pecan pie.

The kitchen is holding around 98 degrees and the door is open as the sound of the screen door slamming resonates throughout the house. I start to think about what I'm going to do once I'm done eating as I watch the other kids running in and out. There's only one thing left to eat... a big pile of cornbread dressing, you have to eat that after dessert... It "cuts the sweet."

I'm the last one to leave the table as the huge white cloth is laid over it... I run outside on the porch knowing that the food will be there for a while longer as the adults sit around and talk about important things. I spend the next few hours running in and out, alternating between playing and eating. I notice that some people are getting ready to leave so I begin to listen to uncle George and my dad talking to Pa in the front room. Uncle George has to be important, he smokes a pipe. Then I hear my mother interrupt my dad and tell him its about time to go. We line up to say goodbye to Pa and Granny. All the cousins start boasting about their athletic ability as we make our way back to the car. I'm ok with leaving because I know that we will be back here next Sunday, and every one after that, that's just the way things are.

We back slowly out of that huge yard and head toward home. The smell of the freshly cut grass wafts through the car and mixes with the lingering aroma of the food, sawdust, honeysuckle, and red dirt to form this memory that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

** Pa (that's Pa in the picture praying before a meal) and Granny's house still sits on Buddy West Road, with that huge barn out behind it. These days that yard looks small and the barn is no bigger than any other building you see around someones house. The huge green field where I watched my cousins playing football is over grown with high grass and appears no larger than my own front yard. The entire place is surrounded by a subdivision of Mcmansions and looks rather forlorn and forgotten. But.. When I was a kid... it was a huge paradise of family that seemed like it would be there forever. God, I miss being a kid... What I wouldn't give for one more Sunday dinner...