Vested Interest

The Warmth of a Fire

Iclearly remember the New Year’s night our neighbors, the infamous Silvernails, invited us for a bonfire in their front yard. It was one of those difficult years we all have. We—their friends and neighbors—were asked to write down our regrets, disappointments and failures. We crumpled up our lists at an appointed time and threw them into the fire. It’s been a decade since that night, which, as I said, I clearly remember, but for the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing on the well-crafted list.

In the middle of To Kill a Mockingbird, Miss Maudie’s house is destroyed by fire. The divided community comes together to help Atticus’ neighbor retrieve most of her furniture, and Scout wakes up the following day with a blanket wrapped around her once-shivering shoulders by the mysterious, seldom-seen Boo Radley. The fire so engrosses Jem and Scout that neither of them sees Boo, who they’ve spent the summer and fall fictionalizing.

The point: Fires bring us together.

Whenever we have a fire going on our deck, which is at least once a week, our neighbors know they’re invited.

This year’s fire pit highlight was a gathering of old friends at Dan and Julie Schmalz’s backyard in southwestern Jefferson County. Dan’s fire pit is a large wheel rim surrounded by railroad ties and numerous logs for barbecuing and burning. Why a retired firefighter enjoys fire is a question for local psychiatrists, but a dozen childhood friends shared laughs as a full moon and Jupiter hung high in the eastern sky. I’ll long remember passing myself off to one classmate as another who was not in attendance. “I always get confused,” Carl, one such friend, asked. “Are you Steve Vest or Wayne Tichenor?” “Me?” I responded. “I’m Tish. We invite that Vest guy to stuff, but he’s a jerk, and we’re glad when he doesn’t show up.” Without a nod or wink, everyone else around the fire went along with the gag. By the end of the evening, I was getting used to being called Tish and started to form negative feelings toward the absent Vest fellow. Come to think of it, he is a jerk. When I think of Camp Covered Bridge in Prospect (where I went to Scout camp) or church camp in North Carolina, I remember times around a fire.

Name a good Western that doesn’t have one, including Blazing Saddles, released when I was in middle school and Johnny and Donnie Gosser, allies in the Tish gag, and I

were in old Troop 124. Nearly 50 years ago, Blazing Saddles’ satirical depictions of racism, written chiefly by comedian Richard Pryor, were over our heads. Still, firefighterturned-actor Burton Gilliam and the other cowboys passing gas around a campfire left us in stitches. My childhood tale includes a barn fire in Verona, my dad’s hometown. The barn was near my Uncle Charles and Aunt Virginia’s house. We found footprints in the mud leading away from the fire and were sure that if we followed the trail, we’d find the culprit. We only needed an angry mob and a few hound dogs, which we didn’t have, and a shotgun, which we didn’t own. The first newspaper I worked for was the McLean County News. My time there is bookmarked by a bonfire honoring the first winning football team in school history and the suspicious Livermore Furniture Factory fire that drew gawkers from several counties. Man’s first use of a fire pit dates to the Middle Paleolithic period, some 40,000 to 250,000 years ago. Archaeological evidence in the Tabun Cave in Israel’s Mount Carmel and the Klasies River Caves in South Africa shows fire pits made using a collection of stones. After repeated usage, ash built up, creating the underpinnings of what we know as a hearth. Many cultures used a hole in the ground filled with hot STEPHEN M. VEST coals and stones for warmth and cooking. Peruvians, Publisher + Editor-in-Chief Eastern Indians and many Polynesian cultures used fire pits to cook during festivals, harvests and religious ceremonies. Native Americans used fire pits in teepees for heating and council discussions. We all have pleasant fireside memories. It’s about the people we’re with, the conversations and laughs we share, regardless of whether the details stay with us or drift off in the smoke. Either is fine. If you don’t believe me, ask Tish.

Kwiz Answers: 1. C. The Haynes Sisters escape from a Miami nightclub while Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye parody their hallmark song “Sisters”; 2. A. Louisville native Niles wrote in his unpublished autobiography that the song “grew out of three lines of music sung for me by a girl who called herself Annie Morgan” in Murphy, North Carolina; 3. B. The Whitley County native had been honored with the 1964 Academy Award for Best Actress for her role in Hud opposite Paul Newman; 4. C. A Freelance writer, composer, and musician Stephen Lyon graduated from the Danville school with a bachelor’s degree; 5. B. Covington recognized the composer and lyricist by naming a boulevard for him and placing a historical marker in his honor; 6. A. The rural town about 50 miles northeast of Louisville is one of around a dozen towns in the United States with the name; 7. B. Sponsored by the U.S. government, the Fulbright Scholarship is awarded to more than 800 individuals each year; 8. C. The railroad was used to transport food and other supplies from Louisville to the Union Army’s depot in Nashville; 9. C. His appearance as Gangster Johnny in the sequel, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, was his last film credit. Foody is best remembered as the police dispatcher in the 1980 film classic The Blues Brothers; 10. B. Varney voiced the role of Slinky Dog alongside fellow Kentuckian Annie Potts as Bo Peep.