Question mark november 2015

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? Magazine November, 2015

November 2015 * Volume 1 * Issue 2

CONTENTS Beth Arnold starts the next phase of her life, sorting family pictures on Pawleys Island, South Carolina.

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Camille Nesler thinks China may be on to something Page 15

Zach Mann treks from Nashville to California Page 10 Rick Baber thinks our political dialog may be stolen from movies.

Page 21 Zach feels the Bern.

Oh, he feels the Bern.

Page 13 Guest writer, Jim Carpenter, has the blues in Helena, Arkansas.

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? Magazine November, 2015 YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO GET

November 2015 * Volume 1 * Issue 2

CONTENTS

Here’s a tip. Don’t mess with Tammy Curtis’ daughter.

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EAT THIS! Rhonda shows you how to make it.

Page 43

Angelia Roberts speaks with a woman who can’t get no satisfaction.

ABOUT OUR NOVEMBER COVER

Page 39 Win a free ART PRINT! Page 18

Rhonda Crone is a confused little girl in church.

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Little Rock’s Deb Finney shot this stage photo of Blind Mississippi Morris at the 2015 King Biscuit Blues Festival. Lots of other photos by Deb, Maile Anela Alday, and Jim Carpenter in Jim’s detailed report on the event. By all reports, it was a Helena Good Time. See page 25.

? Magazine November, 2015 YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO GET

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Question Mark Magazine Vol. 1 No. 2, November 2015 Published by TigerEye Publications P.O. Box 6382 Springdale, AR 72766 E: cybermouth@hotmail.com Copyright 2015, Rick Baber Question Mark (?) Magazine is electronically published monthly, free to online subscribers, by TigerEye Publications, through ISSUU.com

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? Magazine November, 2015

Living

Beth Arnold LIFE IN FRANCE had carried me away. Every day was an adventure I relished, and I was a perfect expat. Since I’m not French, I wasn’t bound by the ancient restrictive cultural rules that the French live by, and since I wasn’t on U.S. soil I could skip the greedy American values that had driven me away in the first place. I existed in that lovely eccentric expat bubble that I considered a free zone.

The Garden of the Palais Royal, Paris

But there came a time, after I’d been living in France for eight years, when I realized I felt disconnected from family and friends in the U.S.—especially in the South, where I had grown up.

When I made my yearly visit to my native country, there was always so little time. It was Christmas that we had to be together, to share. Daughter Blair had moved to San Francisco and was working there. My husband, writer/editor James Morgan (whom I call the Lone Wolf), and I would trade our apartment in Paris for one in San Fran, and we would stay for a month or six weeks. Daughter Bret was still in college, so she had a chunk of vacation time to fly in and stay with us. It worked out beautifully. We might occasionally take a short jaunt somewhere else, but the task of creating a temporary home for us all, plus preparing for festive holidays, including our traditional Christmas Eve dinner of standing rib roast to which we invited old friends and new and any family who were geographically near enough to come—well, it was crazy hectic. I had little to no time to see those who lived outside the tight circumference of where we found ourselves.

And for Blair, Bret, Jim, and me, home was wherever we happened to be together.

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Living But as Malcolm Cowley says in Exile’s Return, “…the country of our childhood survives, if only in our minds, and retains our loyalty even when casting us into exile; we carry its image from city to city as our most essential baggage…”

The truth was, I had lost that in a sense. A deep part of me—of anyone—that makes us who we are as individuals are the places we come from. And I am born of the hills of Arkansas. I was suckled on the White River. But I had lost some part of me that was attached to this integral sense of place I’d called home. * MY MOTHER HAD literally dropped dead a few months after Jim and I had moved to France, and one area of contention between my brother and me in going through her things were how to divide the thousands of family photos. My answer was to have them digitized, so we each could have copies of all of them. Even so, it took me seven years to deal with them. Like a lot of other people out there, I was afraid to face them.

Sunset in Charlottesville, Virginia

Finally I concocted a plan to come to the U.S. and go through all the pictures together with my daughters, organizing the slices of my family’s life—our story—in chronological order as best we could. One of my goals was to create a family archive, around which Blair, Bret, and I would shoot a documentary of this process. We called the film project “Pieces of Us,” and to help flesh it out we would take a family tour of the South that I had been missing, visiting friends and relatives that we hadn’t seen in a coon’s age.

But to organize the pictures, our center of operations would be a beach house at Pawleys Island, South Carolina, where Jim and I had taken the girls on vacations during their growing up. We all loved this place in the Low Country, the region that Pat Conroy had captured so beautifully in his stories of families riddled with violence, pain, and loss. I equated my own flesh and blood with the Wingos in The Prince of Tides. Their story wasn’t exactly the same as that of the Arnolds, though a shattering incident had also rocked my mother’s, brothers’, and my lives.

And so in September of 2010 I flew from Paris to Virginia, where I met up with Blair and Bret. In Charlottesville we visited my cousin Abby and her side of the family, then we three girls drove down through Virginia and North Carolina, occasionally stopping at gas stations that seemed on the scary side of the swaggering conservative political shift that had already taken place in the U.S. Americans had become inbred of spirit and mind in the worst sense. Not like the days I remember,

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Exile’s Return by Malcolm Cowley

Arnold/Morgan/Graves Christmas Dinner Table 2008

Living when we embraced the world, were interested in and not afraid of the events taking place in countries and cultures that were foreign to us.

Our family had rented numerous beach houses at Pawleys over the years, but never this one, which we’d found on the Internet. It had many bedrooms, plus a wrap-around screened porch and a huge dining room table where we could spread out the family pictures. The day we checked into the house—before picking up the Lone Wolf in Charleston and zipping back to our beloved Pawleys again—was a momentous day for us, to be in this spot on an American map, together again. We felt like we had come home. It had been a decade since we’d been at Pawleys Island, and many things in our lives had changed. But not this.

I would never have thought that South Carolina would be my natural habitat. After all, this is the state where Senator Strom Thurmond had ruled the roost with his segregationist ways for so many years; the state where—five years hence—a young white man would take the lives of nine black church members in Charleston. The shooter, Dylan Roof, was hooked up with white supremacy and neo-Nazi groups. He sat down for a prayer meeting with innocent people he soon shot and killed. What does this say about us and the ultra-conservative surge and gun culture that has grown worse and worse these last few years?

Obama’s election drove them up a wall. And in the Bible Belt—the South—we’ve been growing these people like lily-white cotton bolls in late summer fields. Many so-called “Christian” churches are fanning their flames of unrest.

But at the beach, my daughters and I were happy as clams as we somehow performed this massive job of poring over and organizing some 5,000 pictures, many of which Blair and Bret had never even seen. Most of the time we had to take educated guesses about the order in which they went. But at least we were finally doing it. Family photos are hard to deal with, and many people never face the task.

They put them in a box and leave them—not knowing what to do with photographs of people they may or may not have known. Or they’re too afraid to see photos that could bring up losses they don’t want to replay. So these memories and records of individual lives get lost, thrown out, or given away. But the worst photo insult is the ignobility of being sold in Estate Sales. Have you noticed how many “found” photos are drifting homeless and family-less out into the world?

This is one reason I wanted to be somewhere that would nurture us, and that is exactly what Pawleys did. We woke in the morning to crashing waves and walked along the beach as the sun cast its rosy

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Blair Graves, James Morgan, Beth Arnold, Bret Graves at Christmas 2007

The Low Country of South Carolina

Our house on Pawleys Island, South Carolina

Boxes, albums and loose photographs in the process of being organized

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Living glow over the Atlantic. At mid-morning we spilled the photos on that big table and attempted to put them in piles of decades, and then to place them in the appropriate years. The pile was always there to come back to, like a giant jigsaw puzzle. We drank iced coffees and tea, and I told Blair and Bret stories they didn’t know. We reminisced together about other stories. Sometimes a photo would generate a vague impression but not a real memory, though in time the impression might actually form itself into a recollection. There were people I didn’t know, of course—family, friends, as well as people from my family’s past whom I “knew” but whose names I couldn’t recall. We worked long and steadily, shed tears and whooped gales of laughter.

Together again, for that last week we reveled in the subtle lushness of the coast, beach and marsh and ocean. The things we saw felt miraculous. As shades of pink and orange dusk approached, a nest of sea turtle eggs hatched down the beach from us, and turtle babies emerged from a hole in the sand and headed toward the water.

Around mid-afternoon every day, shiny silver fish began jumping out of the sea, literally all around us in the water. We could see we were in the middle of schools of thousands and thousands that were swimming along the coast. When the waves rolled in, they were full of fish.

And perhaps the most amazing of all were the starfish that beached themselves. For several days, the coastline was littered with them.

They were alive, I think, at least in the beginning. I tried saving as many as I could by lifting them up and laying them back down in the surf—such fantastic creatures—but as many times as not, a leg would break off. I knew starfish regenerated, but it felt like I was maiming them, so I stopped and left them where they were.

Since then I’ve learned that multitudes of beached starfish or sea stars is actually a phenomenon that has been semi-regularly happening on the shores of South Carolina, and in Great Britain as well. There are various theories of why that is, from commercial dredging dislodging starfish from the rocks they’re attached to, to big storms and high tides that wash the pinky-orange starfish in. On some beaches they’re found alive and on others they’re not. The regenerative capabilities of these incredible sea stars almost make them mythical sea unicorns.

And so it went. The sea enveloped us, and the salt marsh crabs clicked their farewells while the egrets and herons tipped their heads. The sun rose and set with splendor, and we were in the primal world that called to us and nourished us. We who were raised in the Arkansas

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Stacks of photographs being put into chronological order

Sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean

Turtle Nesting

Beached starfish

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Living hills were in awe of this coastal nature, beguiled by the salt life and sea.

After many years I had again found a place that felt like home in the U.S., but it wasn’t just me. We all did. We couldn’t account for that.

All we knew was that we felt genuinely happy.

Wanderers outside the gates, in hollow Landscapes without memory, we carry Each of us an urn of native soil, Of not impalpable dust a double handful Anciently gathered—was it garden mold Or wood soil fresh with hemlock needles, pine And princess pine, this little earth we bore In silence, blindly, over the frontier?

--a parcel of the soil not wide enough or firm enough to build a dwelling on, or deep enough to dig a grave, but cool and sweet enough to sink the nostrils in and find the smell of home, or in the ears, rumors of home, like oceans in a shell.

--Malcolm Cowley Exile’s Return

A JOURNALIST and awardwinning writer who for a decade (2002-2012) made her home in Paris, Batesville, Arkansas native Beth Arnold has written for Rolling Stone, GQ, InStyle, Self, American Way, Premiere, and Mirabella.

Online, besides her regular blogging for The Huffington Post and for http://www.betharnold.com/ (where she published her acclaimed “Letter From Paris”branded column and podcasts), she has also written for Salon.com, Vogue.com, and Marco Polo Quarterly, among others. Her prime journalistic topics are culture, politics, travel, and people.

And so we did…a home by the sea.

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Living “Sunny California ain't such a bad place to be”, as the song goes, “and the women and the weather and the music have all been good to me”. It's been at least a thousand years since I've been to southern California, and I've never been treated to a time there such as this. If Aspen were a California town, it would be Laguna Beach. This is a strange analogy, I know, but in terms of pricey real estate and classy confines, the two destinations have at least this much in common. First and foremost, though, the California coastline is much more welcoming as the beaches are essentially public.

Parking is reasonable and much easier to find, and frankly, the people are intrinsically much nicer.

Laguna itself is a postcard, with both open coastline along with several publicly accessible yet more private coves. The John Wayne Airport is ridiculously easy to negotiate and only 20 minutes away.

Cloudman, pissing on Texas

A short drive up the coast along the Pacific Coast Highway lands you in Newport Beach, which is a town of about 84,000 souls. It has all of the trappings of a classic beach town, sporting a couple of piers and several miles of surf friendly coast.

Upon visiting the Balboa Pier, Patty G. and I were able to observe an 8 foot hammerhead shark. Patty grew up on these beaches and had never seen such a spectacle. Of course, I assured her that nature and I have a special bond which afforded us this opportunity. Several years previous, while driving the PCH down the northern coast around Big Sur, I had seen a blue whale not 40 feet off the rocky coast. Throughout my entire life I've been fortunate to have had rare and wonderful experiences such as these. Once while backpacking and camping in western Colorado near Rifle, I was awakened by a mountain lion not 15 feet away from me while sleeping under the stars on a ledge no wider than 10 feet, and hundreds of feet above the canyon floor.

Another time while hunting near Silt, Colorado, I had somehow managed to meander into a ravine

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Living and find myself surrounded by at least 80 head of elk, some of whom passed within inches of me while I stood like a statue. When they finally noticed me, a large cow elk nearly knocked herself unconscious when she wheeled around, crashing her head into a tree. I could have reached out and grabbed her ears as she was that close. I wish that my luck with such communes among nature would transfer to the lottery, I'd surely be a billionaire.

Wealth is not only measured in dollars, I suppose, but also in experiences. I'm a lucky man indeed, where circumstance meets chance, and opportunity affords. My grandfather had an expression, “to kill a lion, one must go to where the lions are.�

Certainly, I have no desire to kill anything, having given up hunting many years ago, but the adage rings true in all facets of the human experience.

Now, back to California, where the sea beats against the shore whether you are there to see it or not, 24/7, every moment of everyday, for millions and millions of years.

The ocean remains the most powerful thing I've ever witnessed, yet so soothing and peaceful. It has a magic voice which speaks to us all, like a mother to a child. The continuity of the tide is so oddly reassuring that an alpha state is accomplished with zero effort, simply by allowing it. Each dawn of my trip found me walking those awesome Laguna shores, and I contemplated nothing, feared nothing, and wanted for nothing. It is like being dead and alive at the same time, which suggests to me that indeed, all we are is all we are.

Kurt Cobain was surely on to something.

conveys the sadness of the masses who once knew a Utopia that can never be known again. For now, at least, this wonderful coastline remains relatively

unspoiled, at least for a thousand feet or so along the beautiful coastline. Much care has been taken to assure that it will remain for as long as the earth will allow it. Should you decide to visit it yourself, do so with the respect and reverence that it deserves.

There are nearly 39 million people who live in California. That's a lot of weight on a state that is a shelf hanging out over the ocean. The constant threat of earthquakes and Tsunami are ever present, and wildfires and drought take their annual toll with increasing frequency. Patty remembers orange groves in Anaheim where Disneyland is today. She remembers, with a faraway longing in her gaze, lots of wide open California spaces. It is a look that 12

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Editorial

November Politico This goes out to the “I like Bernie Sanders but he can't win so I am voting for Hillary” crowd.

REALLY?? WTF??? Here is a newsflash for you: WHOEVER gets the most votes wins. So, YES, Bernie Sanders can win. The following is the typical conversation: POINT: Bernie can't win because he is a socialist.

COUNTERPOINT: Once the public is educated as to what a Democratic Socialist really is, the stigma will be diminished.

POINT: Bernie can't win because Hillary will get the black vote.

COUNTERPOINT: Bernie's civil rights voting record is better than Hillary's. As time goes on, this fact will come to light more and more.

POINT: Bernie can't win because Hillary has more money.

COUNTERPOINT: Bernie is keeping up with Hillary's fund raising without accepting corporate donations or PAC money. This will become a huge part of the campaign as time goes on. People are tired of elections being bought and paid for with “dark” money.

POINT: Bernie can't win because Hillary will get the female vote.

COUNTERPOINT: Barrack Obama proved that the female vote isn't automatically Hillary's.

This is a very unique election cycle which means anything can happen. Working class people from both sides of the aisle, (to quote a movie), appear to be “mad as hell and aren't going to take it anymore”. Notice how the more traditional

candidates can't seem to get any traction while political outsiders, like Trump and Carson, are flourishing. Though Democrats conveniently lay all the blame on Republicans over the Wall Street bailout and The Great Recession, a huge part of the responsibility is squarely in the lap of Bill Clinton, who signed the legislation deregulating banks. The good wife, Hillary is a great friend to these banks and this isn't going to play well once this campaign hits full stride. Politics as usual has landed us in a terrible mess.

No longer is our country the beacon of light and love and hope that we once were. The honeymoon we enjoyed after WWII has long since faded into a ghostly dream of wistful longing and worldview holds us accountable for some seriously dastardly deeds perpetrated by those whom we've elected. We've all got blood on our hands and they just don't like us, Bud. While we boastfully shout to the world that we are THE great democracy, they see our naked truth like the king without his clothes. Our standard of living, as compared to other western nations, has been in steep decline for decades. We have twice as many people incarcerated, (per capita), as any other civilized nation. The top on half of the top one percent of our population has

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Editorial more money than the bottom ninety percent, and they want more. This is NOT a democracy. A democracy is controlled by the majority of its members. We are, in fact, an oligarchy. An oligarchy is a form of power structure in which power effectively rests with a small number of people. These people could be distinguished by royalty, wealth, family ties, education, corporate, religious, or military control. Such states are controlled by a few prominent families who typically pass their influence from one generation to the next, but inheritance is not a necessary condition or application of this term. (These definitions are as described in Wikipedia).

What is a Democratic Socialist? In a nutshell, a democratic socialist typically favors the regulation of capitalism through a system of checks and balances designed to protect the public at large.

Greed is a very powerful motivator and must be tempered in a manner that protects the interests of the whole, but not to the point that it would dampen the entrepreneurial spirit. It is, after all, the entrepreneur partnered with the working class who makes this country great. This system creates jobs, and thus drives our economy. In essence, one isn't much good without the other. The fair exchange between the two is where the rubber meets the road.

This delicate balance is imperative to maintain in order to assure the well-being of all who depend upon it. Over the last couple of decades, a lot of the wealth accumulated in this country has been achieved by moving manufacturing away from our shores to foreign shores with cheaper labor. In a manner of speaking, this is nothing more than economic treason, and for this there is no good excuse. It is clearly a violation of our economic security, which is a violation of our national security. More jobs here means more taxes paid here.

More taxes collected means better infrastructure, etc, etc, etc. More working people paying taxes lowers the burden for everyone. A Democratic Socialist would identify this problem and penalize the offenders while offering tax incentives to companies willing to reinvest in American workers. This is a prime example of how democratic socialism works, taking on the role of a giant chamber of commerce.

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You may have noticed a serious lack of media attention garnered by Sanders, even though he is getting huge crowds everywhere he goes and is keeping pace with the Clinton fund raising machine. Why is that, you may ask? Stop and think about who owns the media, and also consider who funds the media through corporate advertising. Do you think McDonald's is chomping at the bit to raise the minimum wage? I seriously doubt it.

Though this example is, at best, an over simplification, it is used to make the greater point.

The powers that be, which is the oligarchy itself, has the greatest to fear from a candidate like Bernie Sanders.

So, the original point was that lots of folks don't believe that Bernie can win. We go to the racetrack to pick winners, we go to the polls to pick the best candidate. If enough people vote their religious conscience, Bernie will win. (Who would Jesus vote for?). If enough people vote with their wallet in mind, Bernie will win. If enough people who want to stop the war machine go to the polls, Bernie will win. If enough people go to the polls to vote against the status quo, Bernie will win. You see, it really works this way..........if Bernie gets enough votes, he will win.

Zach Mann lives in a house down by the river in Nashville, Tennessee. Over the years, he has had several columns in various newspapers in Colorado and Oklahoma and has contributed editorials to several other newspapers and national periodicals. He achieved his greatest literary accomplishment by getting fall down drunk with Hunter S. Thompson at his Owl Creek, Colorado home.

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Editorial

Camille Nesler

me a break. Oh but wait a sec…look who I’m talking to? How many children live in poverty in the United States? How many children are taken away from parents due to neglect and abuse every year? Yet folks can just keep popping them out, can’t they. Brilliant!

Someone please explain to me how come we need a license to drive a car, to shoot a deer or even to catch a stupid fish, but any moron out there is allowed to reproduce?

Tweak China’s Policy The latest story making headlines is how China has finally decided to get rid of its “one child” policy.

In case you aren’t familiar with it, the one-child policy was a population control policy out of China which began around 1980. It was enforced by issuing fines based on family income to those who didn’t comply. Some may think it applied to every single resident of China but that’s not really true. In reality, it only applied to about 36% of the population and it allowed a bunch of exceptions.

For example, ethnic minorities were exempt and many couples were allowed to have another child IF the first child was a girl. The whole thing came about to help curb a surging population and to limit the demands for water and other resources as well as to alleviate the economic and environmental problems in China. So…..somebody tell me why this was a BAD thing? In a country with more than 1 billion people, where there is a shortage of basics resources such as WATER, you STILL think it’s a good idea for the masses to keep reproducing? Give

12 year ago I adopted an infant and let me tell you, I was amazed at all the hoops I had to jump through.

DHS workers came into my home, poked around in my cabinets, opened up my fridge, looked at my finances, ran a criminal background check on me, and questioned my views on everything from discipline to religion to appropriate bedtimes! I was required to have a certain amount of living space in my home and pretty much everything I’d ever done in my entire life had to be well above reproach.

But, do biological parents have to go through any of that? Nope. All they have to do is spit the baby out at the hospital and take it home. End of story.

What is wrong with this picture? Where’s the accountability?

Maybe if more biological parents had to go through the same screening processes, we wouldn’t have so many children sitting in the foster care system. We did have a Eugenics program back in the early 1920’s but we didn’t get that right either. Eugenics was a popular scientific theory back then.

Eugenicists believed that poverty, promiscuity and alcoholism were traits that were inherited. To

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Editorial eliminate these things and to improve society’s gene pool, proponents of the theory argued that people who exhibited those traits should be sterilized. In fact some of America’s wealthiest citizens of that time were eugenicists, including Dr. Clarence Gamble of Procter and Gamble and James Hanes of the hosiery company. Not only that, but 31 of the 50 states all had a eugenics program in place.

When you bring up the topic of eugenics THESE days, people have a big ol’ fit. How DARE you suggest that just because someone is an alcoholic or so poor they can’t take care of themselves, let alone a baby, that they shouldn’t go right ahead and have one? The audacity! (insert some heavy sarcasm here.)

And yes, the program certainly did have its flaws.

Sterilizing those folks for example. After all, they might not ALWAYS be poor….they might not ALWAYS be an alcoholic…so why not just enforce mandatory birth control instead? Save the sterilization for those who really deserve it.

maturity level and financial status and wish to have a child, they have to go through all the same checks and balances that adoptive parents do, before being allowed to have their sterilization reversed. Hey, it would totally do away with abortions as well, since any pregnancy would definitely be wanted and planned. Two birds with one stone!

Yeah…China was definitely on to something. It just needs some tweaking…..

Camille Nesler has lived in Arkansas most of her life, an original transplant from the windy city of Chicago. She frequently works as a freelance writer for online publications such as Livestrong, USA Today's Travel Tips, Trails and eHow. Her weekly columns appear in a variety of Arkansas newspapers and her first book was published in 2012.

Camille lives with her husband Nick and three children in Benton Arkansas. When not writing, she enjoys marketing for a large Healthcare Corporation, cooking and traveling, traveling, traveling!

Nope. That basic human right should be forfeited because it harms the baby. What about all the parents who’ve had more than one child taken from them by DHS due to neglect or abuse? Should THEY still be allowed to reproduce? Again, the answer is pretty simple.

NO. People are extremely offended when I mention this and like to holler about their “Constitutional” rights. But last time I checked, our Constitution doesn’t say a thing about reproduction being one of those rights.

But the best solution I have is this one: Our wonderful medical community…you know, the one that has figured out how to clone a goat? And put a Baboon heart in a human? Yeah, those folks…they need to come up with a way to sterilize everyone at birth, in a way that is totally reversible.

Then, when individuals reach a certain age, 16

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“Prototype” Issue, September, 2015

Volume 1 Number 1, October, 2015

? Magazine November, 2015

Politics

It’s almost impossible to tell if what’s going on within the GOP is for real. Are these characters actual flesh & blood politicians, or are they the products of some creative mind, reading scripts designed to make the rest of us buy too-expensive popcorn in exchange for some moments of uncontrollable laughter? Is “the news” actually “the news,” or outtakes from some big screen comedy?

Is it “Blazing Saddles?” Slim Pickens and his band of marauders are riding hard, on their way to destroy the town of Rock Ridge – to work up a Number 6 on them. You know, that’s where they go a ridin’ into town, a whompin’ and a whoopin ever livin’ thing that moves within an inch of its life. ‘Cept the womenfolk of course.

Since Hillary is a womenfolk, Mr. Gowdy and Mr. Jordan have special plans for her – at the Number 6 Dance, later on. But there’s a surprise. There, in the middle of nowhere, is a railroad crossing barrier, blocking off the road until they pay their tolls.

“Has anybody got a dime?” Mr. Gowdy asks. “Somebody’s gotta go back to town and get a shitload of dimes!”

Only, this time, it’s nails. They forgot to bring the nails to the crucifixion. Friday: “How you gonna have a crucifixion without any nails? You gotta be a stupid motherfucker to try to have a crucifixion without any nails!” I hear that being said in the voice of Chris Tucker, aka “Smokey,” looking upside-down at Craig – but it’s not his face I see. Who is that? Somebody who doesn’t talk like the old-time religion-courting GOP. . . ? Magazine November, 2015

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Politics to prove that she was a witch by virtue of the fact that she floated when cast into the water.

And, once they’ve held her head in the toilet, laughing and giving each other high-fives, they pull her up briefly, only to hear Hillary say, “It’s down there somewhere. Lemme take another look,” ala

The Big Lebowski.

But, truthfully, even though literally nobody watched the whole thing, wasn’t what we did see … painful, at best? As that Longest Day drug on, it was as if all the ridiculous questions were mere setup for the big hammer-dropping that was sure to come near the end of the show. That twist, we’ve all come to expect, but we’re never really ready for it. Then, it became increasingly obvious that they were simply poking the bear with a stick, hoping she would reveal her fangs and jump over the table in a furious attempt to devour her tormentors, killing her campaign in the process.

Yeah! That guy! Who else stands to gain the most from the elimination of the only human being the Democrats have in their stables whose very name strikes fear in the hearts of the tea-sipping faithful?

How is he going to make this country great again when it’s her sitting in the golden throne instead of him? Will he go ahead and get the Mexicans to build the wall, even if it’s acting merely as a failed politician, concerned citizen, who is, after all, only there to begin with out of his undying love for the little people of the United States of America? How incompetent could that bunch have been to not let him have a seat on the panel? He could have asked the best and greatest questions ever! Because, he’s very rich, you know.

Did the Monty Python bunch have a hand in writing the script for Gowdy & Company? It did seem, during that horribly long (eleven hours) fiasco that the Republicans on the panel were trying 22

But Hillary remained cool. And after each of the too-few bathroom breaks, Gowdy and the rest of the Magnificent Seven came back more and more hostile and agitated – clearly showing their frustration.

It reminded me of a job interview I once had. After all the standard bullshit questions, like “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”, dude finally got to his piece de resistance: “What do you do to keep your cool and maintain control?”

“That’s not a problem for me,” I said, “I’m always in control.”

He laughed a little and re-adjusted his ample ass in the big expensive leather chair. “No, really, we all have a little problem now and then keeping control.

How do you do that?”

“Not me, man,” I told him, “Cool is my middle name. I just don’t have that problem.” I leaned back in my own chair … body language, you know.

The interviewer squirmed some more, loosened his tie, and asked the question a couple of different

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Politics ways. And I came back each time with an equally The Conservative Reviews Are In: cool, calculated similar answer.

Benghazi Hearing a Bust Finally, “Look!” he said, “In this job, there are going to be people who get under your skin! Angry, rude people. And I’m just trying to find out how you’re going to handle that! We all lose control.

What if I just reached over this desk and slapped you? I bet you’d lose control then, wouldn’t you?

What would you do if I slapped you?”

I gave him a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow before answering, then said, calmly, “Well, I’d probably beat the shit out of you – but I’d be totally under control while I was doing it.”

I didn’t get that job. I didn’t get a lot of jobs. But I was cool … like Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man. Are the movie references too much? All I’m trying to say, in this, my own hard-hitting journalistic essay, is that (as if you didn’t already know) it failed – this ultimate prosecution of Hillary Clinton for her single-handed murder of two US diplomats and two CIA contractors in the Benghazi, Libya embassy attack on the 11th day of September, 2012.

Google “Hillary Clinton Benghazi Hearing.” You will find a list that looks like this:

Hillary Clinton weathers House Benghazi committee ...

How Hillary Clinton Won the Benghazi Hearing Hillary's Moment at the Benghazi Hearing Trey Gowdy Just Elected Hillary Clinton President Eight reasons Hillary Clinton won the Benghazi hearing The Benghazi Hearing Has Jumpstarted Hillary Clinton's Campaign Donations

Abbreviated pundit roundup: Benghazi hearing backfires for Republicans Oh, you will also find a few that describe how she was humiliated and forced to lie under oath, touting the patriotism of Gowdy (R – South Carolina), and Susan Brosks (R – Indiana), and Jim Jordan (R – Ohio), and Mike Pompeo (R – Kansas), and Martha Roby (R- Alabama), and Peter Roskam (R – Illinois), and Lynn Westmoreland (R – Georgia).

We, surely to become the publication of record, need to make sure those names are listed here, for posterity. But, then, it wasn’t really a prosecution, was it? It was an impartial hearing to get to the truth – you know, for the benefit of the survivors of those killed in the embassy attacks. Just like all the other hearings, throughout US history, regarding deaths of diplomats and others in our embassies. Google really is a cool tool. You can find articles about these other deaths by using it. With just a little effort, I found a chart called “List of Attacks on Diplomatic Missions,” here. Best I can tell, there have been 52 attacks on US embassies since the first one in Terhan in 1924, and a total of 427 people killed in those attacks. While Hillary surely had something to do with all of them, it appears that at least 413 of those people were killed before she became Secretary of State. And, yet, I can’t for the life of me remember another Secretary of State being grilled by Congress for 11 hours about such unfortunate events. Unless it’s just too late at night for me to calculate this stuff properly (and it is late at night), this chart seems to indicate that 11 attacks occurred during the presidency of one George W. Bush, resulting in 54 deaths. But, don’t take my word for it. I’m just a movie fan who finds humor in the actions of desperate Republicans, struggling to make a little room for one of their own in the 2016 general election. Check it out for yourself.

You’re probably better at math than I am. Then, some night when you’re alone in your study, sipping some Cognac, throwing darts at a picture of

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Politics Hillary, with nobody else around to hear – ask yourself why she was the one to enjoy the experience. Why, really, have there been all the hearings and investigations and papers written, and many millions of dollars spent in the process? If you’re honest, and I know you will be, you will come to the one and only inescapable conclusion: Hillary Clinton simply cannot become the President of the United States. She’s not the woman for that job. For, there is only one woman who has the common sense, intelligence and patriotism to lead this great nation. Only one woman fit to hold the office of Commander in Chief. Only one woman, called by God Almighty to lead us out of the darkness that is the Barack Obama legacy. Only one woman who can put an end to the comedy script government dialog that we have come to accept as a fact of life.

Her time will come. And you – you who still believe Hillary was responsible for the 2012 deaths in Benghazi - will all be happier then.

West Point classmate of Ben Carson Rick Baber was born to poor Hungarian immigrants in the back of a sod truck, along a dirt road in Yucatan, Mexico on New Year’s Eve, 1954.

He survived, grew up in Batesville, Arkansas, fathered a son, got old, and now lives with his lovely better half, Becky, in tropical Springdale, Arkansas.

He sometimes writes fiction, or embellished truths. He has been an insurance adjuster & private investigator and a professional photographer & digital artist since before most people were able to read. He is the publisher of TigerEye Publications, which he founded following his first novel, Purity, in 2010. Other books of Rick’s include Dinner with WT, Darker Tales, and “unrighteous god,” – which nobody will buy because they’re afraid they’ll go to Hell. Rick’s interests include colonoscopies, mowing wet grass and occasionally playing music with other old rockers.

Rick can be reached by email at cybermouth@hotmail.com , or sometimes located behind the dumpster at the Elm Springs Road Kum & Go.

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Entertainment

Jim Carpenter’s blow-by-blow of the 2015 event

In October of each year, just as visitors from around the world flock to Munich Germany for Octoberfest; tens of thousands Blues fans and performing artists head to Historic Helena, Arkansas on the week preceding the Columbus Day Holiday to attend the King Biscuit Blues Festival.

This year marked the 30th Anniversary Celebration and was held on Wednesday October 7th to Saturday October 10th, 2015.

The King Biscuit Blues Festival features a unique combination of free events with reasonably priced 3-day wristbands for Main Stage admission. I bought mine during early bird pricing for $30 each back in May. The purchase price at the festival is $60 for a 3-day General Admission wristband and $30 for a one day pass. However, only admission to the Sonny Boy Main Stage area requires a wristband; all other stages and activities are free to the public.

There are three other stages and six blocks of Cherry St. offering live music, food and activities plus plenty of merchandise to keep you interested and your belly full. Budweiser is the primary sponsor of the LockwoodStackhouse Stage located just around the corner from Cherry & Richtor Sts. The Front Porch Stage is located in the Miller Annex of the Delta Cultural Center in the 200 block of Cherry St. The Gospel Stage is located at the Malco Theater in the 400 block of Cherry St. The Sonny Boy Main Stage is located in 100 block of Cherry St. facing the Levee on the Port of Helena and the Mississippi River.

The Sonny Boy Main Stage is named for Sonny Boy Williamson II. Rice Miller a native of Helena, AR and a harmonica player took the stage name Sonny Boy Williamson and is credited with the founding of the King Biscuit Time radio program that went on the air in 1941. He is said to have approached the owner of KFFA AM 1360 and telling him that “More people would listen to your radio station if you were to play more Colored music” and that he could have his band come and play on the radio if need be. Sonny Boy was told that every show had to have a commercial sponsor and that the fellow who owned the Interstate Wholesale Company might be willing to do so. So, Sonny Boy Williamson II got Robert Jr. Lockwood to join him and they set up the band and played the Blues one morning outside the Interstate Wholesale Company while wagons and trucks loaded with groceries for the

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Wednesday arrival & preferred parking for the Michael Burks Memorial Jam on Biscuit Row.

Biscuit Row

Sonny Boy historical marker

New HQ, across from Biscuit Row 25

Entertainment area stores. Upon meeting with the owner, he decided to sponsor them on the radio to promote distribution of his King Biscuit flour and November 21, 1941 saw the beginning of King Biscuit Time a daily radio show that still airs today and has logged over 17,000 broadcasts as America’s longest running daily radio broadcast. Joe Willie “Pinetop” Perkins on piano and James Peck Curtis on drums soon joined in the original studio band as the King Biscuit Entertainers. Since 1951 the program has been hosted by “Sunshine” Sonny Payne who opens each show with “Pass the Biscuits, Its King Biscuit Time”.

The list of performers who have come to play and be interviewed on King Biscuit Time reads like a “Who’s Who” of American Blues & Rock Music.

In 1986 the first King Biscuit Blues Festival was held as a single day event and featured James “Mr Superharp” Cotton and Bobby “Blue” Bland playing at the Lily Peter Auditorium. All the other acts played on a small stage near the old train depot. Cedell Davis, singer, songwriter, guitarist and Helena native, was the opening act that day. Cedell Davis is currently on tour at the age of 89 doing a six-show tour with Brethern as special guest for the Tedeschi/Trucks Band.

Ben Fenley having a Helena Good Time at the Michael Burks Memorial Jam.

Headliners on this year’s Sonny Boy Main Stage include Bobby Rush on Thursday, Jimmy Vaughn and Tilt-A-Whirl featuring Lou Ann Barton on Friday and on Saturday night Taj Mahal.

Bobby Rush was presented the Key to the City at this year’s 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival by Mayor Jay Hollowell for his outstanding support of the Festival over many years. He has assisted in promotion of the event by appearing in TV, Radio and Newspaper interviews on behalf of the King Biscuit Festival. He is truly a Friend of Helena-West Helena, AR. At the age of 80, Bobby Rush still puts on a performance that is full of energy and enthusiasm. He credits his first guitar as a piece of wire nailed up on a wall at his childhood home in Homer, La. By his teens he had a harmonica and a six string guitar and started playing “Juke Joints” wearing a fake mustache so the owners would think he was old enough to play. In 1951 his family moved to Chicago, IL where his advanced education began as he learned from the likes of Elmore James and Howlin’ Wolf. He learned from the Big Dogs like Muddy Watters, Sonny Boy Williamson and Little Walter. He became a band leader in the 60s and began developing a fresh funky soul blues sound based on his countrified blues vocal experiences. He still pays homage to his roots in every show he does. That, and he brings entertainment in all he does and a driving beat. Even at the age of 80 Bobby Rush is still a lady’s man. He promised that his music is always going to be funky and honest and that it will always sound like Bobby Rush. He most certainly delivered on that promise at this year’s King Biscuit Blues Festival.

Jimmy Vaughn made his first appearance at the 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival and performed with his band Tilt-A-Whirl and Lou Ann Barton, his long time collaborator and Texas-based singing star. He came ready to perform. The two delivered tight harmonies and he played sizzling guitar. He made a point to pay homage to his brother’s passing and to so many more on “Another Blues Singer Gone Home”. I think he enjoyed his first King Biscuit Blues Festival and I know the crowd enjoyed Friday night’s performance.

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Sterling Billingsley leads the Jam with Rick "Saxcat" Sims and Robert "Nighthawk" Tooms.

Jason Wilmon blows mean harp in the Jam while Robert "Nighthawk" Tooms blazes on the Hammond B-3.

Entertainment Taj Mahal headlined the final night of this year’s 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival. He is a two time Grammy winning singer, songwriter, film composer, guitarist and multi-instrumentalist. He has also been awarded the Lifetime Achievement for Performance Award at the 13th Annual Americana Honors and Awards.

The headliners are just part of the appeal of the Sonny Boy Main Stage. On Thursday it hosted Danny Lancaster, Sterling Billingsley Band, Brandon Santini, Zac Harmon, The Kentucky Headhunters and The Cate Brothers all before Bobby Rush started at 8:30pm.

On Friday October 9th, Marcus “Mookie” Cartwright opened the Sonny Boy Main Stage at 11:00am after it served as the “Bit-O’-Blues” Stage earlier with the Carson Diersing Band on at 9:00am and the Dylan Doyle Band at 10:00am. Charlotte Taylor & Gypsy Rain followed Mookie as did: Super Chickan, Reba Russell, Samantha Fish, Anson Funderburg and Paul Thorn.

Jimmy Vaughn and Tilt-A-Whirl featuring Lou Ann Barton wrapped up Saturday on the Sonny Boy Main Stage starting at 8:30pm and playing until almost 11pm.

Josh Parks and Stovepipe swap licks for a Helena Good Time.

On Saturday October 10th, the music started at 9:00am again on the Bit-O’Blues D.R.Diamond & Birthright Blues Project followed by the Peterson Brothers at 10:00am. The Petterson Brothers shared their music with the largest crowd I have ever seen at an event this early in the day and they were smoking. It truly looked as if they were having a “Helena Good Time”. They got everyone ready for a day of great King Biscuit Blues.

David Kimbrough and his band opened the Sonny Boy Main Stage following the performance of the Peterson Brothers and delivered his Mississippi Hill Country inspired Blues combined with North Arkansas Folk Fusion. He is the only blues player I know who plays an electric dulcimer in a Blues styled performance. He was followed by: Earnest “Guitar” Roy, Don McMinn, Kenny “Beedy Eyes” Smith with Bob Margolin & Bob Stroger, Larry McCray, Andy T & Nick Nixon and Ruthie Foster. The 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival concluded its 2015 meeting with Taj Mahal taking the Sonny Boy Main Stage just after 8:30pm and performing until just before 11:00pm.

Josh Parks crushing it on his Flying V.

The Budweiser Lockwood/Stackhouse Stage is named for late Robert Jr. Lockwood and late Houston Stackhouse, Sr., both early King Biscuit Entertainers. It opened Friday, October 9th, at Noon with Austin Walkin Cane and was followed by Mississippi Spoonman & the Spoonfed Blues Band, Selby Minner Band, C.W. Gatlin Band, The Wampus Cats, Big Jay Cummings, Sweet Angel, and ending up on Friday night with Jimmy Burns Band.

The Budweiser Lockwood/Stackhouse Stage, opened for the final day on Saturday, October 10th at Noon hosting Reverend Robert with Da Bones Man. They were followed that day by June Bug & the Porchlights, Jimbo Mathus Band, Big George Brock & His Houserockers, Eb Davis, Lil Biscuit, Billy Gibson. Ending this year’s 30th King Biscuit on the Budweiser Lockwood/Stackhouse Stage was Lucky Peterson who delivered a scorching performance. He took his lightning quick guitar licks out into the crowd and then upon returning to the stage, switched over to playing organ.

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Andy T, Nick Nixon & Bob Corritore in the Michael Burks Memorial Jam on Wednesday, Oct. 7th

Entertainment All this, while belting out the Blues in one of the most memorable performances of the weekend.

The Front Porch Blues Bash, a project of the Delta Cultural Center, operated from 11:00am til 4:45pm on both Friday and Saturday. It hosted a variety of talent that would have been Main Stage acts if there were 48 hours in a day.

Friday opened with L. C. Ulmer followed by Louis “The Gearshifter” Youngblood. Terry “Big T” Williams, Cedric Burnside Project, Blind Mississippi Morris followed and Selwyn Cooper wrapped up the excitement on the Front Porch for Friday.

On Saturday, October 10th, the Front Porch Stage hosted; Vince Cheney, Veronika Jackson, Leo “Bud” Welch, Garry Burnside and the Kenny “Beedy Eyes” Smith Band. Saturday on the Front Porch Stage things were wrapped up with the Front Porch Youth Jam. There was also a Gospel Stage operating at the Malco Theater on Saturday, October 10th, that started after the Blues Symposium V: “Call & Response” was held from Noon to 1:00pm and dealt with the issue of, “Making a Living playing the Blues”. From 1:15 to 2:15pm the Symposium addressed “How to run a successful Juke Joint”. The Malco switched back to a theater after 5:00pm and hosted gospel performances which included Phillips County Quartet Choir, Dixie Wonders of West Helena, Chris K of Pine Bluff, Marcia Elaine Smith of Conway, BJ Generation of Clarksdale, MS, Full Committed of Brinkley and Cork Singers of Greenville, Mississippi.

The 30th King Biscuit Blues also hosted its annual BBQ competition. This year is was sanctioned by the Kansas City BBQ Society for the first time and was dubbed “BBQ & Blues on the Levee”. It also offered a People’s Choice judging. The BBQ competition was just around the corner from Biscuit Row on Phillips St. up and down Walnut Street.

The King Biscuit Blues Festival may be best known for the street musicians who converge on Helena and are willing to “Busk” for tips. Buskers play on the sidewalks, side streets and in front of local shops, up and down Cherry St., Biscuit Row and near the BBQ Competition. There were up fifteen locations that some excellent musicians were “Busking” on the streets inside the festival area. Acts playing this way included, but were not limited to: Guitar “Mac” MacKnally, Sacramento, CA - Robin S. Lane, MS - Jim Koeppel, New York - Eli Cook, Virginia- Len Lawhon (Mulberry Jam) Olive Branch MS - Joe Kirby, Bay, AR – Will Lang & Ben Walsh, TN – Nathan Colwell, Magician, IN – Lil’ Jimmy Reed, AL – Stephen “The Blues Dude”, GA – Richard “Rip Lee” Pryor, Carbondale, IL – Billy Dan Langley, San Anjelo, TX – Zak & “Big Papa” Greg Binns, Hot Springs, AR – The Arkansas Brothers, Jonesboro, AR – Tyrannosaurus Chicken, Ft. Smith, AR – Diamond Jack, Sulphur Springs, TX – Deak Harp came from Clarksdale, MS via Chicago & Oakland, IL by moving there a couple of years ago to open Deak’s Mississippi Saxophones & Blues Emporium. There were dozens more who came to play in Historic Helena at the 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival. Many groups were playing “Pick up gigs” and had never played together before. They just came together for the moment and their love of the Blues.

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Guitar "Mac" MacKnally came from Sacramento, CA to have a Helena Good Time

Sterling Billingsley Band on the Sonny Boy Main Stage.

Reba Russell joins the fun with Sterling.

Entertainment Kansas City was well represented at this year’s King Biscuit Blues Festival.

Samantha Fish appeared on the Main Stage on Friday. Her sister Amanda and Josh Parks played in the Michael Burks Memorial Jam on Wednesday, October 7th and “Busked” on Cherry St. on what has been dubbed the “Quicksand” Stage. Coyote Bill played in the “Big City Blues” merchandise tent and with the KC Review on the Quicksand Stage.

Some performers even came from other countries: Daniel Eriksen came from Norway, Reverend and the Lady came from Italy and played where ever they could showing an almost reverent respect for the long gone performers from the past including Sonny Boy Williamson II, Robert Jr. Lockwood,Jimmy Reed and “Honey Boy” Edwards. I have met and made friends at King Biscuit Blues Festivals with “Blues Lovers” from Italy, Germany, Norway, United Kingdom, Australia and Japan. The King Biscuit Blues Festival is truly an International event.

When talking about the music scene at the King Biscuit Blues Festival, one would be amiss not to mention the “Camp Fire Blues” played in Tent City, USA. After the stages shut down for the night and patrons wandered back to the campground located just over the levee, there is music everywhere there is a campfire. Groups come together. Pickers pick. Harp players blow.

Sometimes they even endure my whistling. On special occasions Heidi “the Tuba Ho” will grace us with Blues Tuba. There will be spoon playing, tambourines and knee slapping. Old favorites are sung and some new ones are improvised, but the music goes on and on and on until the early light or you just can’t hold your eyelids up any longer.

Tent City, USA is unique because for a few days it is a larger gathering than the population of the city that hosts the festival.

It has its own Facebook page and its own selfproclaimed Mayor, Mike Miller.

He lists himself as a Community Organizer and Singer/Songwriter. When asked how he became Mayor he will tell you that he buys votes and rigged the election and thereby declared himself the winner at which time he may offer you a Bloody Mary or engage you with a limerick before teaching you the lyrics to some song we wrote. No trip to the King Biscuit is complete for me without a trip over the levee to Tent City, USA. This year’s 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival took time to take a retrospective look back at all the Biscuits to have gone before and in its Commemorative Magazine offered a section with pictures of all the Blues performers that have graced its stages and passed on since 1986. Those names include: Pinetop Perkins 1913-2011, Robert Junior Lockwood 1915-2006, Sam Carr 19262009, Levon Helm 1940-2012, B. B. King 1925-2015, Michael Burks 19572012, Bobby “Blue” Bland 1930-2013, Albert King Nelson 1923-1992, Ike Turner 1931-2007, “Big Jack” Johnson 1940-2011, Frank “Son” Seals 19422004, Frank Frost 1936-1999, Mark Sallings 1952-2009, Amos Wells

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Brandon Santini Band.

Largest Thursday afternoon crowd I have ever seen.

Zak Harmon Band.

A Helena Good Sunset over the Sonny Boy Main Stage.

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Entertainment Blakemore Jr. “Junior Wells” 1934-1998, Luther Allison 1939-1977, David “Honeyboy” Edwards 1915-2011, James Milton Campbell Jr. “Little Milton” 1934-2005, Willie “Big Eyes” Smith 1936-2011, James Lewis Carter “TModel” Ford c1920s-2013, Red Holloway 1927-2012, Johnny Copeland 1937-1997, Sam Myers 1936-2006 and KoKo Taylor 1928-2009. It is nice to attend a festival that remembers its family and that is what almost anyone who has attended the King Biscuit Blues Festival will agree to “It is like the world’s largest Blues Family Reunion”.

This year made my 28th King Biscuit Blues Festival. My first was in 1987. I recorded 18 hours of video at this year’s 30th King Biscuit Blues Festival. Mostly of the street musicians busking on Cherry St., many of whom are dear friends of mine that I have had the pleasure to come to know over the past several years. Next year’s 31st Anniversary King Biscuit Blues Festival is already marked on my calendar for October 5th – 8th, 2016. I hope to meet you there, in Historic Helena, AR.

Jim Carpenter owns the “World Smallest Trucking Company” ASAPArkansas; just him and one little truck. He has been a student of photography since 1975 and hopes someday to get it right. He is an avid Bootleg Videographer and a regular contributor to “Cryin Brian” on Mondo Blues radio program heard on Community Radio KABF 83.8FM Little Rock, AR and ArkansasMusicTimes.com. This year made his 28th trip to the King Biscuit Blues Festival where he has always served as an underground volunteer and resides in a camper parked at 302 Ohio St., Historic Helena, AR during the festival. He attended his first King Biscuit Blues Festival in 1987.

The Cate Brothers.

The Kentucky Headhunters.

Photo contributions to this article are also provided by Deb Finney hostess of “Blues House Party” heard Fridays on Community Radio KABF 88.3FM Little Rock, AR and Maile Anela Alday, singer, musician and videographer, Los Angeles, CA (both pictured above).

Nascar Nationwide race car and its Cool Crew having a Helena Good Time

Ben Fenley busking on Cherry St.

(more)

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Entertainment

Diamond Jack Band Busks at Quicksand's on Cherry St.

Terry "Big T" Williams on the Front Porch Stage with Ricky "Quicksand" Martin on drums

Cedric Burnside on the Front Porch Stage

Deak Harp & Diamond Jack Band

Bobbie Rush & his Dancers having a Helena Good Time.

Mississippi Spoonman & Spoonfed Blues on the Budweiser Loockwood/Stackhouse Stage.

Shelwyn Cooper on the Front Porch Stage. ? Magazine November, 2015

Blind Mississippi Morris on the Front Porch Stage

Dylan Doyle Band

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Entertainment

Marcus "Mookie" Cartwright

Paul Thorn Band

Charlotte Taylor & Gypsy Rain

Paul Thorn

Jimmy Vaughn & the Tilt-aWhirl Band with Lou Ann Barton

The Peterson Brothers play a "Lil Bit O' Blues" on Saturday

Richard "Rip Lee" Pryor busks on Biscuit Row by his motorhome.

Reba Russell Band

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Into every Biscuit, a little rain must fall.

A Blues Orchestra & Pizza on Cherry St.

Paul Thorn with author, Jim Carpenter at Bubba's Blues Corner

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Billy Dan Langley plays some West Texas Blues at Rip Lee Pryor's motorhome.

Entertainment

Lucious Spiller plays in front of Bella's on Cherry St.

A "Pick Up" forms to play @ Quicksand's

Reverend and the Lady came from Italy and play at Quicksand's on Cherry & York Sts.

Rick "Quicksand" Martin and Larry Garner enjoy music on Cherry St.

The crowd looking up Cherry St. On Saturday.

The Arkansas Brothers draw a crowd @ Quicksand's.

Deak Harp @ Quicksand's on Cherry St.

Quicksand plays drums for Deak Harp. ? Magazine November, 2015

Another "Pick Up Band" forms to wow the crowds

Blind Mississippi Morris busks on Cherry St.

Eb Davis Band on the Budweiser Lockwood/Stackhouse Stage Saturday evening

Eb Davis & his Band offer up some "Down Home Blues"

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Josh Parks, Amanda Fish & Coyote Bill bring Kansas City/Chicago Headcuttin Boogie on Saturday night to Quicksand's crowd.

Jimmy Vaughn

Greg "Big Papa" Binns needs no help in front of the Malco Theater on Friday.

Bob Stroger plays the Front Porch on Saturday.

"Steady Rollin" Bob Margolin plays seated on the Front Porch

Maile Alday admires the autographed guitars that were raffled this year.

Front Porch Youth Jam

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Kenny "Beedy Eyes" Smith plays the Front Porch on Saturday.

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Deb Finney & the infamous "Blue Slushieman" are reunited at the Biscuit.

Living legitimately single. After soliciting her company, the young girl forwarded me the text where he said he was recently divorced, all the time still living in the home with his wife and new daughter.

You know the old saying, ”Hell hath no fury like a mother whose child has been hurt?” Well it was game on immediately.

Tammy Curtis

Landing a big one Everyone has seen them, out of human curiosity, many have visited them … dating sites that is. I am here to tell you, both men and women can be equally naive. Yes, we all want to see the good in every one and oftentimes, the naivety leads to a painful revelation… many times, people are not who you think they are.

Prime example. Let me introduce you to Amber Dawn. She is a beautiful blonde Catholic country girl, who loves four wheeling, fishing, football; is naturally beautiful; going to school to be a nurse while working as a cosmetologist. All eight of her profile pictures indicate she is the All American Girl that any single man would find desirable. Although her beauty begged to question why she would seek men on a dating site. Amber Dawn was born of a need to catch a sneaky, lying ex son-in-law who found time to venture into the world of online dating while still married and with a new baby. Amber was born in about five minutes, a few clicks of a mouse and a short online questionnaire. She was born of necessity after a screen shot from a conversation the “fisherman” had on the popular dating site Plenty of Fish (POF), with one of my best friend’s daughter who was

At this point in the marriage there had been turmoil, counseling and a one way street to try to make things work from my daughter. After the birth of our granddaughter, I realized there was more to the issues than a simple young man who needed to grow up and normal marriage issues. He was a lying, cheating jerk. My goal was to dry my daughter’s tears, encourage her to see him for what he was and to know she was above his shenanigans. I showed her the message and she instantly went the other direction and turned on the girl, so I secretly gave birth to Amber, the epitome of everything the young “fisherman” loved.

After quickly creating a fake email account that referenced my non-identifying junk mail account, I searched for photos of girls I knew to be his type. That too was easy. I have a cousin in New Jersey with some pretty hot friends people who would never be searching for a broke down cheater in rural Arkansas. I helped myself to about 15 photos, saving some for future needs and logged onto POF, and voila!, Miss Amber was born.

Within 5 minutes a fisherman hit on her profile with a quick and lame “Hey hottie, what brings you here?” Within a few hours he was suggesting meeting around midnight. Amber, lived about 50 miles away and he wished to take her back-roading and buy her a nice bottle of Crown to fit the special occasion. No doubt in hopes of talking poor Amber out of her panties.

Amber played well and put him off due to a huge test the next day for her nursing class.

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Living He continued with countless texts to get acquainted and quickly had swallowed hook, line, sinker, pole and reel. He was hooked… now to reel the bastard in. When asked for cell phone number, the sweet Southern Belle that Amber was, refused and said once they had their first date she would give it to him. A girl can never be too safe…. something he also liked about her.

She toyed with him to get all the information she could about his “ex” for evidence all the while petting his ego and got way more than enough.

This was when things got sticky… his best friend who was single and my daughter also knew was on POF, and started a conversation with Amber.

Things were only getting better. The honest person Amber was she told him she was talking to a guy from his home town and felt bad to talk to two men. Men are so predictable. He asked who and she was obliged to tell him, being honest and all. The friend then provided way more information than Amber was ready to hear about the fisherman’s activities. Blonde hair, big boobs and tight jeans sure made the words come quickly. Within a day, Amber learned that the fisherman had been cheating on my daughter since right after they married and when he was working out of town, had girls with him. He was actually with a girl that Saturday spending money on her at Bass Pro when he told my daughter he had to work out of town that weekend… the friend even gave names.

The time began to let my sweet daughter in on Amber’s little secret. After screenshotting every piece of correspondence from Amber and the two, I did one of the hardest things a mother has ever done… showed my daughter. I believe she honestly knew and wanted to do everything she could to save her marriage - the key being her save it. Her husband had no intention of doing so. She was mad, hurt, and the range of emotions she went through was heartbreaking but I knew for her to move on with her life this had to happen.

After finally after getting mad, I came up with the idea that we would allow Amber to meet the 36

fisherman with promises for a hot date. She then took on the persona of Amber and directed the conversation. We finally agreed on a date and set it up perfectly. She was dressed to the hilt with her cutest short dress and boots and we were off to reclaim her dignity… with mom, dad, brother, brother’s girlfriend, my cop buddy and hairdresser in on the action.

We had a week to plan the event and got real technical with the meeting. He agreed to meet Amber at Walmart parking lot on Friday evening.

The first one in was cop buddy, equipped with binoculars and cell phone. He staked out the lot to report back to Operation Reel In on his parking location and direction his vehicle was pointing so when she eventually pulled in he couldn’t see her until she had time to walk around the truck. Before he made his way to the parking lot, hairdresser friend photographed him at the liquor store buying Crown and at the car wash cleaning his truck. As surveillance photos continued to come in, cop friend advised the group we could not completely surround his vehicle because of this thing called entrapment, but on three sides was permissible.

Since he knew my daughter’s car, we parked it at a place out of town where we met our hairdresser. She drove hairdresser’s car and hairdresser got in the vehicle with her dad and me.

Meanwhile, brother and his girlfriend took another route into the parking lot to come in from back to block him in.

As her heart raced, she held back tears and pulled up next to fisherman’s truck where he couldn’t see her with her front end beside his bedside. He knew what kind of car to expect because he was constantly messaging Amber on POF up until the second before Operation Reel In would end. He told her what he was going to do to her and how hot she was among other things.

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Living My daughter proudly walked out of her car and made her way around to his truck where he met her with the most dumbfounded look I have ever seen. Her dad, myself and hairdresser then pulled up to the front, and she introduced herself while simultaneously handing his ring back, “Hello my name is Amber Dawn mother f&#$er!” At the same time before it could actually sink in he was presented with all her posse and her dad’s video camera rolling (just to capture the moment). I don’t care if he lives to be 150 years old, I can guarantee he will NEVER forget that feeling he had at that second. The idiot actually played the dumb card and asked what she was talking about. She began to quote his statements and ask where her big bottle of Crown was, all while my cop friend was holding his baby daughter. Hairdresser then leaps into the back of his truck searches his Yeti for the Crown. “You can’t even buy diapers for your baby but can afford this for a whore? You win the Father of the Year award!” she screamed.

Everyone was laughing and son and girlfriend promptly began shooting deer urine into the rubber moldings of his doors with pre filled syringes while he attempted to get out of it by lying. We drew quite a lot of attention and before leaving I asked him if he would like my husband to pull the hook out of his mouth because it was set pretty deep.

The lesson here is while dating sites have their purpose, beware of mothers, wives and girlfriends who are smarter than those attempting to real in a big one.

Hello. My name is Tammy Curtis and I am a rebel. Not the confederate flag flying type but the non-conformist type who loves to color outside the lines and live outside the box. I have prided myself on my creativity and ability to tell stories in a non-typical way. With a degree in graphic design and a minor in marketing, somehow I ended up being an editor for three small town weekly newspapers in Northeast Arkansas. I was instrumental in creating Avenues a successful monthly magazine where I can use both my writing and graphic talents.

While I love the magazine, I have always sought a venue to publish more of my outof-the-box ideas, because I believe there is a huge audience who loves these types of stories. Question Mark has offered me this outlet. I have been working in the media for 11 years and when I am not working I am enjoying camping with my family: husband, daughter, son, granddaughter. spastic Bichon and two granddogs. Send us suggestions on the types of stories that appeal to you and we will do our best to see that you get them!

NOTE: Tammy may also be reached through the AreaWideNews website.

ATTENTION WRITERS. If you’re looking for a place to showcase your work, Question Mark Magazine would like to hear from you. While we aren’t currently paying for un-solicited submissions, we welcome them, and will do our best to review every one. If your original work is published, we will give you a by-line and links to anywhere in cyberspace you’d like us to send your readers. Email your submissions as a single-spaced Word attachment (include a brief bio, photo if you like, and all your contact information) to: cybermouth@hotmail.com , AngeliaRoberts@hotmail.com , or TCurtis@AreaWideNews.com . And, go “LIKE” our Facebook Page!

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Living

In search of the Big O -Angelia Roberts

It’s automatically assumed that women move from their youth into adulthood with all the tools they need to have a full-filling sex life. They know how to dress, flirt, and give all the right signals, but in reality the numbers are staggering when it comes to females who have never experienced sexual fulfillment, otherwise known as, the Big O. Growing up with the Cinderella, Prince Charming and Happily Ever After mentality means that illusion is shattered when they find out they didn’t get the whole package. And, that goes for women who have healthy sex lives as well as women who have been sheltered. And in all fairness, men are just as disappointed to find out they didn’t get who or what they thought they were getting either.

But, I had no one to discuss my concerns with. Back then, sex wasn’t a topic discussed among any of my friends. By the time my teenage hormones were questioning these things the only insight I got from my mamma was, ‘Nice girls don’t do that.’ End of subject.”

So, Jennifer pretended to know what it was all about, but the Big O, whatever that was, had escaped her.

“Here I was on the backside of 20, and by my calculations turning 30 would be a near-death experience. All I could think of was, ‘What if I die?’ Even scarier than never finding nirvana was the knowledge that something was wrong with me.

That, was the only explanation I could come up with. After all, I was married to Romeo. Women of all ages found him desirable and more than one pushed me out of the way to garner his attention and affection.”

Nine years into a failing marriage Jennifer went in search of the illusive O.

Meet Jennifer.

She grew up in a strict environment where the topic of sex never came up. And while things might have been groovy with make love and not war propaganda in the ’70s, she was far removed from that world.

Unhappy with status quo, she became obsessed with knowing what all the fuss was about and the quest to find out begin. That journey would cost her in more ways than one.

This is her story:

She found the perfect candidate. He was single, younger, with blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes and a hottie by any woman’s standard. The fact this young stud was going to look naked was a bonus, but the real object of her affection was the O. “To make a long and pathetic story short, the entire sexcapade was over in a few minutes. I was traumatized. On the drive home I kept looking at myself in the mirror and visualizing a big scarlet A on my forehead. A five-minute fiasco changed me from faithful to unfaithful. I was now a cheater and clearly, not very good at it.”

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Living She couldn’t even sell herself on the what is good for the goose is good for the gander theory.

“It didn’t matter that my husband had dated throughout our entire marriage, this broken commandment was on me. And like any good southern girl who has messed up and had no intention of fessing up, my guilt trip forced me to work even harder on my marriage.”

Jennifer admits her heart and head had long checked out when during a love-making session her husband whispered in her ear and asked what she was thinking.

Something in her had died or maybe never even come to life. Here she was turning 30 with a divorce on the horizon.

“The demise of our marriage was not so much about our infidelity but the fact we were really headed in two different directions. The hardest part of giving up was labeling myself a failure. I had failed at being a good wife and mother and finding the Big O.” And then, when she least expected it, she discovered what all the fuss was about, but she had faked her way through the emotions for so long that at first she didn’t even realize what was happening.

“It was like winning the lottery, unearthing the biggest diamond at the state park and stumbling upon the fountain of youth all at the same time. But even more revealing was learning that I was a carbon copy of so many other women who were struggling with their own questions and sexual frustrations.”

There was still a door that needed closing and she felt the need to retrace her steps and own up to her own flaws in the failed marriage.

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Years later, with the aid of alcoholic beverages, which somehow makes the truth easier to swallow, they had that conversation.

“I remember asking him if I had been different, stood on my head in the corner and had sex 23 out of the 24 hours a day, if that would have changed anything. He reassured me it wouldn’t. It was probably the most honest conversation we had ever had with each other. It was like a gift with him admitting the flaws in his own character that sent him looking everywhere else, but it didn’t make me feel less guilty.”

Having that frank discussion, she said, was another pivotal moment.

“We learned over time we had fallen in love with an idea of each other and believed like so many others that happily ever after was something that came attached with our marriage license. It’s just a piece of paper. There are no instructions on how to be a good spouse, parent, handle finances or a recipe for happiness.

And nowhere, does it guarantee it comes with the Big O.” Angelia Roberts is an award-winning journalist who has spent the past 25 years cataloguing the truth, half-truths and fictional lives of others.

She lives in Melbourne with her neurotic dog, Andre, who demands she cook his favorite meal of spaghetti regularly and keep plenty of ice cream on hand, just in case Sonic is closed. In addition to the spoiled dog, she is the mother of four interesting adults, Nanna to five grands, ring-leader of some adventurous Wonder Women and more than one significant other refers to her as “my favorite or lovely X wife.” She is easily bored and always in search of some new adventure. From time to time she wanders off the reservation, but always leaves a trail of bread crumbs in order to find her way back home. She can be reached at angeliaroberts@hotmail.com .

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Literary he was an atheist until my mom revealed this, sometime in my twenties. I never heard it straight from his mouth, and I still don’t even know if it’s true, because we don’t have those kinds of conversations. We have definitely never discussed the concept of a higher power, or prayed, or practiced any kind of Christianity.

But as a child I considered myself a Christian, I guess because Mom said we were Methodist, as her parents were, and because we went to that old white rickety church, that one time.

Rhonda Crone My mother found a quaint, white, wooden Methodist church on the corner by my elementary school in the new town we had recently moved to.

It was 1977. It was the quintessential Southern Methodist church, with the bell and the two-stepped front entrance with rickety double doors. It smelled musty and dust fluttered around in the rays of light coming through the stained-glass windows. But that’s about all I remember about the place.

I’m not sure how many times we actually went to that church, but I only recall the one. My father, of course, did not go with Mom and me, his being an atheist and all (His father was a Pentecostal Preacher). Funny thing is, I didn’t really know that

That time - the one I remember - is fuzzy, mostly because of the dust floating around in the light. The organ music started, and everyone stood. I looked up at my mom, who began to belt out a song with the rest of the congregation, and I started to bawl.

Yanking at her hand, I cried, begging her to sit down. It wasn’t that I hated music or singing; I loved it, if it was on Casey Kasem’s Top Forty Countdown. It was just this whole situation that rubbed me the wrong way. I was about five years old, and I found it all to be totally bizarre. And somehow, I guess, embarrassing. Exactly whom I was embarrassed in front of, I don’t know; this wasn’t exactly my peer group. Kids are funny like that.

At my pleading, my mom sat down that day, and we endured the fire and brimstone sermon. And then we left and never went back to that church. I remember passing by that white building that was in dire need of paint for the next fifteen years, and each time, thinking about how I cried when my mom sang. And I wondered why and I laughed. We never went back to that church, or any church, apart from funerals, ever again.

That incident was basically what frightened me away from organized religion for life. The next time I entered a church for anything besides a

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Literary funeral, it was a Baptist one. I was nineteen, standing there in my royal blue bridesmaid’s dress next to my very best friend. Then once again, with my Catholic Republican boyfriend at Christmas Eve mass. I walked out in the middle of a sermon about the evils of abortion, and that was the last time for me. It was the last of the boyfriend too.

Rhonda Crone loves to write about food, local culture and travel and secretly has a lifelong dream to write for Rolling Stone. When not working as the Northwest Arkansas advertising representative and one of the writers for Arkansas Times Special Publications, promoting her regional cookbook Local Flavor of Northwest Arkansas, dabbling in screenwriting or writing her blog, rhorhosbistro.squarespace.com, she drinks and cooks, taxis kids, does hot yoga and bikes Fayetteville’s city trail system with her family.

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Living

Curried Pumpkin Soup:

by Rhonda Crone

Every fall for the several years, I've developed a new soup obsession. I like stews and chunky soups sometimes, but I tend to go for the pureed variety - Butternut squash, potato, lobster bisque, creamy tomato basil, roasted red pepper...I could go on. This past summer, I can't even begin to count the number of times I picked up a tomato basil or creamy tomato dill from a deli for lunch. That and a cracker, and I'm good. But right now it's Fall and it's pumpkin time, and I had to do my first seasonal soup. Here goes.

You'll need: 1 small pumpkin (or 2 cans plain - do NOT mistakenly get the sweet kind, and do not fear being judged for using canned pumpkin. It makes it super easy and still super GOOOOOD.) 1 box of broth (chick or veg) 1 tbsp. butter 2 cloves garlic 1/4 cup chopped onion 1-2 tbsp. curry powder (to taste) 1 can coconut milk It's so damned easy, anyone can do it. It's just seasoning to taste that is tricky. If you're using fresh pumpkin, you'll slice it into chunks, arrange in a baking pan and roast at about 350 for 1 hour. If it's not easy to fork after that, roast until it's soft. Then, remove the peel. Put in food processor and puree. If you don’t have a food

processor it should be soft enough to mash with a potato masher; it'll just be a little chunky.

First, saute the chopped onion and then garlic in butter.

Add the pumpkin, and then start adding broth.

When all broth is added, season and simmer 20 minutes.

Taste, and season it as necessary. Add pinches of sea salt throughout the process and taste as you go along. Also pepper. Then add the coconut milk. Cook another 5 minutes.

Serve it with some crusty bread, or better yet, Naan. Awesome!

I threw some sunflower seeds (pumpkin seeds would be the logical choice, if you use the whole pumpkin) and cilantro on for garnish.

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PARTING SHOT

Our favorite photographer (and friend of the mag!), John David Pittman, shot this image at a recent Ben Carson rally in Little Rock. We receive it in a timely fashion, two days before we publish the November issue, as the TV news is saturated with recent revelations regarding Dr. Carson.

This is going to be such a fun political season. Join us as we mock …. er … keep an eye on the candidates.

What’s coming in December? Well, that’ll depend, partially, on you, the reader. What would you like to see? Click HERE to link to our Facebook page. “Like” it, and give us your feedback. As of November 6, we have readers in the US, Canada, France, South Africa, Norway and Italy – and we’d love to hear from ALL OF YOU! As always, if you’re interested in submitting materials for publication, send it!

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