We all have something to give

It was a tight space, but that’s often the deal with parallel parking. There were three bicycles in the bed of my truck, and the blanket I had the front wheels slung over blacked out the backup camera that had always seemed a huge extravagance.

It was dusk, and I was turned around peering over the seat to look at the car behind me as I maneuvered. Suddenly a man, probably in his early 50s, was in my line of sight. He held his arms wide with both hands crooked at a slight angle from his wrist, that unmistakable sign one uses to let a driver who’s parking know how far they are from bumping into the car behind them. As I inched back, he moved his hands closer, his eyes downcast at the two cars, and his help allowed me to make a perfect one-point move into the spot.

He was already speaking as I got out of the truck.

“Man, I like your truck, and this is a pretty nice car behind you, I didn’t want you to hit it and have any problems,” he said, smiling and nodding his head.

“I really appreciate the help, thanks so much,” I replied, and as I came around from the driver’s side of my truck to the sidewalk, I saw his weathered backpack against the building. He had been sitting on the low stone planter that protruded from the front wall, and as he returned to his seat, I saw that he also had some kind of canvas bag pushed up against the other side of his legs, likely everything he owned stuffed into what amounted to two laundry bags.

I had just returned from a meeting in Asheville and was joining my wife for beer. At that Asheville meeting, as it turns out, there had been a discussion about the homeless and how they tended to congregate in certain places and cause problems for many merchants. No one at that meeting had judged or criticized our homeless residents, just noted that they can cause issues that have to be dealt with. As I turned my back to the guy who’d helped me and headed down the sidewalk toward the cozy confines of the bar, a sudden urge overtook me. Perhaps that conversation from earlier that day was on my mind, perhaps it was the influence of the full moon expected that night. “That was really helpful,” I turned around and told him. And then, not really knowing what else to say, I simply asked him, “How are you doing,

brother?”

He looked me straight in the eye, shrugged his shoulders, nodded again, said, “I’m fine, I’m good.”

I reached into my wallet and pulled out the only cash I had, a $10 bill, held it out.

He reached his arm out slowly, gingerly accepted the offering, then eyed it closely as he wrapped his fist around the money.

“Thanks man, God bless you,” he said, his eyes still fixed to mine.

“Have a good one,” I said and turned to walk away.

Look, I’m almost ashamed to say I pass people at busy intersections holding signs and almost never give them any money or food. I seldom give to sidewalk panhandlers. I’m typically a “lift yourself up by your bootstraps” kind of guy, for better or worse.

But this time I had stopped and turned around to face him, and his expression exuded warmth and friendliness. This isn’t about me giving some homeless guy a few dollars, but that exchange remains in my mind. Maybe because it’s the holiday season, perhaps because a lot of us are a little worried as politics and viruses and the economy have us all unsure of what the next few months hold.

A simple act of kindness. There was a time when I was spiraling both emotionally and psychologically, and the kindness of family and friends was the balm I needed. Words, visits, calls, letters, cards — they all helped me get back to a good place. I have to remind myself to never forget that time. We all have something to give, be it time, a friendly helping hand, emotional support, food, a visit, a few coins, clothes, a check written to a charity. In my time on this earth, I’ve found that most people are good, whether they’re living on the streets of Waynesville or a huge house in Highlands.

He was still there when I left the pub and returned to my truck, a lit cigarette protruding from his fingers. If that’s what the money bought, so be it. He smiled, waved, and gave me a sincere, “Thanks again man, God bless you” as I stepped into my truck.

That blessing carried meaning, and I won’t soon forget it. Happy holidays.

Scott McLeod Editor

(Scott McLeod can be reached at info@smokymountainnews.com.)

Is this how democracy dies?

To the Editor:

Mark Meadows (former congressman from North Carolina and President Trump’s White House chief of staff) may very well have been the worst chief of staff ever and “an embarrassment to his former state and district” (SMN, Dec. 15, 2021), but that is not close to being enough to shame today’s Republican Party into doing the right things by the American people. It is my opinion, as a nearly life-long Republican, that the GOP of today has no shame and is beyond humiliation to the point of tolerating dishonor.

My mother dedicated her entire life to the Republican Party, the party of John Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, Henry Cabot Lodge and Margaret Chase Smith (the latter two she counted among her friends). That party, composed of honest, decent and traditionally conservative Americans, no longer exists.

Today’s GOP is made up of Mitch McConnell, Kevin McCarthy, Jim Jordan, and yes, Mark Meadows, men intent on retaining power no matter the cost. If that means ignoring long established law and precedent, if it means disregarding the Constitution, even if it means violating their oaths of office, most of today’s Republicans consider all those things a small price to pay for access to unlimited wealth, power and influence.

During the two impeachments of the former president I wrote to every Republican United States senator twice, several Republican representatives (twice) and other Republicans, asking them, begging them, imploring them, pleading with their better selves to put partisan politics aside and do the right thing. I didn’t change a single mind — and of that (regrettably) I have no doubt.

I did receive three responses, one each from North Carolina senators (Richard Burr and Thom Tillis), who offered substantively nothing, and one from Mark Meadows, who wrote the following: “I am committed to working on your behalf to hold the President accountable and maintain the Constitutional balance of power between Congress and the President.” I don’t know if I’m more angry that he told me a bald-faced lie or that he thinks I’m ignorant enough to believe it.

I truly believe that the present-day Republican Party is purposefully rigging the political system in its favor through gerrymandering and controlling the vote count. This will render majority rule and our democratic form of government effectively obsolete. It deeply concerns me that neither Democrats or the average citizen seem willing, able, or even remotely intent on stopping them. Is it possible this is what it looks like when a democracy dies and nobody cares? David L. Snell Franklin

LETTERS

To the Editor:

Recently I decided to take a closer look at the new plaques added to “Sylva Sam,” Jackson County’s 1915 Confederate monument. The wording on the larger plaque is noticeably careful, almost tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. You see, still standing tall and proud above those newly worded plaques is Confederate soldier “Sam.” The problem with that (though rarely mentioned) is the cause for which he fought and what he represents. It’s time to face the historical facts.

Like all Confederate soldiers Sam fought for disunion of our country. He swore allegiance to the self-proclaimed Confederate States of America and pledged to uphold and defend its constitution. That constitution enshrined into irrevocable law the “right of property in negro slaves.” (See article 1, section 9 and article 4, section 3 of the Confederate States Constitution)

Even though Sam himself may not have owned any “negroes,” he was willing to fight for the right to do exactly that. Ultimately, all Confederate soldiers fought for the right to own human beings as property. (To see some of the property Southerners fought for the right to own, go across the street to Bridge Park and take a look at the stunning Harriet Tubman statue, which will soon be leaving. That says it all: Sam on a pedestal, Harriet on the ground, running.)

Now, Sam could be your ancestor (or mine), but does that make the cause for which he fought honorable, or even defensible? It’s an important question. Some would argue that because Sam was a product of his time, he should not be judged by today’s moral standards. However, that’s exactly what we should do. In fact, today we are called upon to acknowledge the truth about why Confederates fought and to honestly accept the facts of history.

The bottom line is this: in 2021 we know better than to memorialize the Confederacy in public spaces, even in a veiled sort of way as with this statue. The new plaques do not, and cannot, transform the soldier on the pedestal into something he’s not. Sam was never meant to represent “veterans of all wars,” but specifically and solely Confederate veterans of the Civil War. As originally stated in 1915, the statue was erected to honor “our heroes of the Confederacy,” and sadly it still does. Let’s face it, his fight was not honorable. Therefore, it’s time to do the right thing and take Sam down. Adding new plaques to an old monument and to an old narrative cannot cover up the truth.

Faye Kennedy Whittier

Jim Stevens was a true mountain man

To the Editor:

Recently, we lost a true mountain man. You may have known him as Jim Stevens or maybe just “Poss,” but for me it was “Mr.” Stevens.

At first he was my boss, but soon he became my close friend for more than 40 years. He was one of those few people that, regardless of the circumstances, you always gave the title “Mr.” or “Dr.” out of respect.

Mr. Stevens was born in Possum Holler, located in Jackson County, in 1932. When he was seven, his father died, leaving behind a wife and nine children. Times were tough, but Mr. Stevens was tougher.

After finishing high school, “Poss” received a basketball scholarship to Western Carolina, but his time at college was interrupted by a three-year stint in the United States Army. Afterwards, upon receiving his diploma and teaching certificate, he took a job at Spalding Junior High where he coached and taught P.E. He later returned to Western Carolina to obtain his master’s and education specialist’s degree. Mr. Stevens began his career as a teacher and principal, retiring as associate superintendent of Haywood County Schools.

He continued to teach all of us lessons along the way. Those of us who worked with him learned the importance of being on time, showing up to work, making sure our students were clothed and fed, and especially that they were encouraged. His command of the English language was stellar and he corrected all of us if ours was not.

Jim Stevens also taught us the importance of giving back to our community as he served on various boards including the Haywood Community College Board of Trustees, the Haywood Regional Medical Center board, Mountain Projects and Folkmoot. He was also a county commissioner, always giving his time to make our lives better.

I will miss this man that I called my friend. I will miss his phone calls, his special delivery of candy as I split wood, his enthusiasm as he talked about UNC basketball, his sense of humor and sometimes sarcasm, his gruffness, his “truth telling,” his advice and, most importantly, his friendship. However, I cannot forget him as all I have to do is look around our county to see his “touch” as he left this world on October 13 a better place than he entered it — an example for all of us.

Richard Reeves Waynesville

LETTERS

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