apartment complex most of the day. There is a pool at the complex, so we did take some time to head out and relax poolside for a little while later in the day. To say it was hot would be an understatement, and I love the summer. We did go to the Waffle House for a late breakfast and this is a place that no matter what town we are in I always freeze when eating there. This time, though, I welcomed the cold with temps outside climbing into the upper 90s that day. The evening was spent at the house with a home cooked meal prepared by my daughter’s fabulous roommates who took us in as family. Tuesday morning, Tristan and I decided we wanted to make the short drive over to Jekyll Island which is my favorite of the two islands closest to where Teri lives. It is a slower paced and historical place. The more natural surroundings and rustic look of the beaches just seems to speak to my soul. I love driftwood beach and we always stop and walk out to take pictures and climb on the giant pieces of driftwood trees left on the beach. I never get tired of it no matter how many times we visit. We did, however, learn the hard way on a previous visit that you have to be careful swimming at that beach because there is a lot of debris and sharp barnacles living on things close to the shore. Getting a cut in salt water is not how you want to spend your day at the beach.
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After we did some climbing and took some pictures we headed over to the park and shopping center to get some frozen yogurt at our favorite spot to frequent when visiting. It has nice places outside the shops to sit and enjoy your meal or dessert all with an ocean view. After we had finished up we headed back to the apartment to pack up and head home. As much as we love visiting we were missing our friends and family back home and couldn’t wait to get back home to them. We also have a cute little dog who stayed back home with my middle son, Noah, who was missing us just as much as we were him. We made the drive back home again listening to music and this time talking about our trip and the fun we had just experienced also. Children grow up very quickly, and even short trips like this one are so important and full of precious memories. Summer is a great time to make some memories with your children. We love summer, so you will usually find us close to a pool or outside enjoying nature in one way or another. It doesn’t always have to be a trip far off that makes the best times to look back on. Picnics and hikes are great inexpensive ways to enjoy time together, and in North Georgia there are many places near the water to cool off also. Whatever you choose just make sure it is less about the planning and more about the people and the time you spend with them, and you will have the best experience.
Unknown: “The best teachers teach from the heart, not from the book.”
Sometimes trusting my gut proves wise Some strange things have happened in my life, things that can’t be easily explained. Call them what you will, premonitions, gut feelings. Oh, in retrospect they proved to be rational responses to a situation but at the time they felt more instinctive, so it is hard to say what they were. As a neuroscientist once said, “We are not thinking beings who feel, we are feeling beings who think.” Two in particular stand out. One involved an old Volkswagen and another a drunk walking on the side of the road. Let me explain. The Volkswagen didn’t run. It was sitting in the yard of a friend of my daughter. She is a bargain hunter and offered her friend a deal on it because her present car got poor gas mileage. The reclamation of the VW proved to be quite a task. The clutch-brake pedals assembly was frozen, and that was the smallest of its problems. After getting the engine rebuilt and new tires put on it, it was road-worthy. But it was a mixed blessing. The upside was that it was a dependable car that got good gas mileage. The downside was that it was a little car that would not provide much protection in an accident. The latter was of particular concern, at the least to me, because of my granddaughter, who was about 4 at the time. I began to be concerned - a gut feeling - about what might happen to them in an accident. At the time I drove a Chevrolet Caprice, a large boat that was very smooth riding and got respectable gas mileage because it had a V6. So I offered to swap cars with my daughter. Two weeks later she was stopped to turn left at the daycare center where my granddaughter was when she was hit from behind by a teenage boy driving a Suzuki Samurai, a small sports utility vehicle. To say she was merely hit doesn’t quite describe it. The kid was going about 55 miles per hour and did not see her. Did not see her? Well, yeah, he was a teenager and was distracted by something. He tried to swerve at the last minute but collided with the right rear end of the Chevrolet. The impact was violent enough that it bent the frame on that side and put a crimp in the roof. Needless to say the car was totaled, but my daughter was unharmed (miraculously so was the kid). I hate to think of what would have happened had she been in the VW. Was this a premonition? Or are simply a bit of reasonable caution that proved to be correct. It is hard to say. The other event happened about 10 years earlier and was the strangest thing I have experienced before or since. I was living off Old Jefferson Road north of Athens at the time and driving a Ford van. One day about sunset I was driving home on North Avenue with my three children. It becomes Old Jefferson Road at a bridge over the by-pass. The bridge was not designed to accommodate pedestri-
By Ted Smith Marion T. "Ted" Smith is the author of a new book, “Life in the Park: A Novel.” It is available on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble.
ans. It had no sidewalk, just a small ledge and a short guardrail. As we approached the bridge I saw an old man walking toward it on the side of the road. He was not steady on his feet, and I immediately recognized that he was drunk. I also recognized him. I didn’t know his name, but I had seen him before, one night when I had volunteered at the local homeless shelter and a couple of other times around town. He was always inebriated except at the shelter. In the space of a moment everything became crystal clear. He was going to try to cross that bridge while staggering drunk, and I knew as certainly as I know my own name that he was going to fall off it onto the road below. I crossed the bridge and immediately turned back, making a complete circle that brought me up beside him. I told my daughter to get in the back, opened the passenger side door, and said, “Get in.” He did. I took him to the shelter where he stayed overnight. Then the next morning I picked him up and took him to the Red Cross. They interviewed him and found that he had a sister in South Carolina who agreed to take him in. They also provided a bus ticket, and soon he was on his way to his sister’s house. Now I have no illusions about what I did. I know that alcoholism is very difficult to overcome, and I know that people who have lived on the street sometimes become more comfortable there than indoors. And I know nothing of his relationship with his sister. More importantly, I don’t really know that he would have died on that bridge. All I know is that he didn’t. But does all of this mean that you can always trust your gut? No. My gut has been wrong several times. I have had premonitions that did not prove true, most notably when it comes to love. You know, the common romantic notion that you see your beloved across the room for the first time and know that you are destined to be together forever. I once had a flash bulb go off in my mind when I first saw a woman. I was convinced it was a sign that we were destined to be together forever. Forever proved to be about a few months. But experience has taught me that sometimes I can trust my gut, at the least in retrospect.
The table was always set formally, and I felt so grown up eating there. On Sunday afternoon, I remember The Atlanta Journal-Constitution spread out all over the floor and couch in the living room, lazy sunshine coming in through the windows as everyone enjoyed the paper. Celestine Sibley was a close friend to the Tabors and a regular contributor to the Atlanta paper. It was natural that her column was discussed in detail. Grandpop had a giant garden behind the house, and I can still see him out there in a straw hat picking beans and tomatoes and everything else. I understand he’d get up early and distribute fresh vegetables to every store in town. Herbert’s father, Thomas Harley Tabor, purchased the three-story Victorian dogtrot style house from Edward Willis Watkins Sr., along with several acres of land, including the land that the Hyatt Hotel (courthouse) was built on. Mr. Watkins purchased about 200 acres of land after the Civil War, and the house was completed around 1870. This acreage included the house known today as the Watkins house on the square. After Frances Tabor died, the house wound up being donated to the Church of God who had plans to renovate it to use as a Youth Center when the Gilmer County Commission purchased it and used the property for a parking lot. For the past 11 years it has been leased and used for a historical museum. And we have Leslie Thomas to thank for it!
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Today, the Tabor House, which is the oldest family home in Ellijay, is almost hidden by the new Gilmer County Courthouse. It now houses “The Tabor House Historical Museum” with collections of various periods of memorabilia and artifacts that speak of this significant town’s history from the Mississippian Indian culture, through the inhabitant of the Cherokees, to the gold mining pioneers, through the Civil War, and onto the major wars that left an imprint on the town’s hearts. Four rooms downstairs are a mix of history and heritage, telling about the militia communities, the schools, churches, moonshine, and people that made this county what it is today. Some displays are rotated out to accommodate the number of items that the collection holds. Some items are on loan while many have been permanently donated. An office contains files collected over the last 11 years to establish the ongoing and growing historical information held on the county. Upstairs holds an array of items related to the Mississippian Culture, Cohutta, Creek, and Cherokee Indian occupation on part of the nearly 10 million acres given to the Cherokees after the Revolutionary War. Middle school art lines the hallway based on telling the history of Gilmer in colorful art pieces. The next room holds the Civil War story and more than 300 books telling both sides of the uncivil confrontation that took the lives of more than 600,000 young men for the original cause of state’s rights.
Joan of Arc: “I am not afraid. I was born to do this.”
Bits and pieces in displays around the room include maps from the Atlanta Campaign and an operating table built by the doctor who was ingenious in its design to have it fold up to the size of a valise. There are two outside rooms that housed up to four boys each while they attended a school that was at the foot of the cemetery up until 1935 when school buses began to be used and schools were consolidated. There has been a tea room, as well as a restaurant housed there, and the kitchen is now used to bake goods sold at Main Street Antiques. I remember the first time I visited the Tabor House after many years. It now housed the Historical Museum, and my Tabor cousins were visiting from Texas and, of course, wanted to go. Nostalgia hit us all squarely in the face. As all things do, the rooms seemed smaller than I remembered. Grandpop’s office, which was a tiny space wedged under the staircase that held a huge roll top desk, chair and file cabinet, was gone. The space had been walled up to accommo-
date a restroom, with a door opening up from another room. The upstairs brought back so many memories! And the dining room, though set up to feed several at six or seven tables now, still reminded me of those days sitting at a formal table with grownups, glancing to make sure my hands were washed. Grandpop and Aunt Frances are gone. So are my aunt and uncle, for that matter. But the memories of childhood – the love, the laughter, the acceptance as though I really were a grandchild? That won’t ever be gone. The Tabor House Historical Museum is open 10 a.m. until 2 p.m. Thursday and Friday. Saturday hours depend on the availability of volunteers (they need and want more volunteers!). You may also call for special group tours to be done on days they are not open. There is no admission fee, but donations are greatly appreciated! They run from March 16 through December 23.
Dr. Seuss: “Children want the same things we want. To laugh, to be challenged, to be entertained, and delighted.”
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HOW TO CHOOSE A Real Estate Agency
Buying or selling a home is a major event. And because of complicated contracts and significant investments, it’s one that you’ll want to take on with the help of a real estate professional. Finding a good agent often means finding a reputable real estate agency. These days, it seems like every town has more than its share of real estate businesses. But choose wisely, all are not equal. You should ask around and check with your local business bureau for suggestions about good agencies in your area. Once you have a list of possibilities, do some research. Find out how long the agency has been in business. Ideally, you want people who know your community. If the real estate agency is merely a side business, it might not give you the best results. Buying and selling homes is a full time job. Look on the Internet and read customer service reviews. They should also have an
impact on your overall impression of an agency. Once you have narrowed your list, contact some businesses and ask them questions. You should know about their listings, fees and commissions. Choose an agency that has connections with the community, a sharp understanding of neighborhoods that interest you, and solid contacts with other realty companies. The marketing strategy and advertising is what makes each agency unique. It will greatly influence the sale of your home. Although most companies might look the same, real estate agencies have a preference for the kind of properties they show or sell. These concentrations might include commercial properties or high-end homes. Try to find a business with a focus that concentrates on selling homes similar to yours. Look at an agency’s listings to see if your home would fit in nicely with their existing clients. If you were purchasing a home,
would you find their listings easy to read and informative? The size of the agency will have an impact on your experience. Small agencies can provide more personalized service, but they may not have the networking advantages of a large company. Big agencies have more opportunities to network and sell your home, but they may have to divide their time among many clients. Be prepared to ask an agency the following questions if you are selling your home: -- How will you advertise my home? Will you use the Internet and newspapers? -- How many pictures of my house will appear online? -- On which sites will my home be featured? -- Do you have other homes that have recently been sold in this price range? -- How long has the agency been selling homes in my neighborhood? -- What makes your agency unique?
HOW TO CHOOSE A Party Rental Company
Have a big event on the calendar? Whether you’re planning a shindig for dozens of guests or a happy afternoon for neighborhood kids, a party rental business can be a big help in making your event a success. They can provide everything from seating and tents to cutlery and entertainment assets. For kids’ parties, they’re also an excellent place to inquire about inflatable bounce houses and other fun activities for rent. Whatever your need, you’ll want to pick a rental business with a devotion to excellent customer service. After all, you don’t need to add the stress of dealing with spotty service to the many things on your party planning list. Here’s what to look for in a good party rental outfit. Selection and Quality Not all rental companies are equal, and the most obvious way you can tell the difference is by the products they provide — both in quantities to pick from and the quality of their offerings. Some rental companies place their emphasis on one particular type of event, such as weddings, children’s birthday parties or corporate retreats. You can see this from the supplies they offer for rent and how many different styles you have to pick from. A wide selection is important, especially if you’re trying to use a very specific color scheme or decorating theme and need lots of options at your disposal. The more choices you’ve got, the more likely you’ll be able to turn your dream party into reality. But like any service, you typically get what you pay for in party rentals. You need to know precisely what kind of quality to expect so your event will end up looking chic, not cheap. Advice and Expertise Another thing to consider is how experienced the company’s owner and staff are in the event planning industry. Seasoned professionals are typically better than newcomers because they can think of potential questions to ask and problems you might have before you’ve even thought of them. They’ve been around the block, so to speak. The best rental companies will have the personnel with the kind of background that will help you plan and execute the perfect party. They’ll listen closely to your needs and find ways to make your event run as smoothly and stress-free as possible. Professionalism Unfortunately, not all party rental companies are run by true professionals. The best ones, though, make their quality obvious by the level of service they provide. Because planning a party involves lots of communication, coordination and detail work, you need to find a rental company that responds
quickly and professionally to your requests. Does a real person answer the phones? If you leave a voicemail, do they respond promptly? Do they reply to your e-mails quickly and clearly? All these things can help point you in the right direction so you’ll know what to expect when you work with them. Reputation Fortunately, there’s another easy way to find the best party rental companies. They’ll have a good reputation in your community. Good rental companies will be able to provide you some references so you can look into their track record. If your friends, family members or coworkers have used a certain company in the past, though, firstperson references are the most reliable way to know what you can expect. Because different party vendors often work together in a local area, from caterers to event planners and others, you should also look for a rental company that has a reputation for being easy to work with.
HOW TO CHOOSE A Pet Groomer
A dirty pet with unkempt hair can throw off your whole home with unpleasant smells. In addition, forgoing proper grooming for your furry friend can be bad for its health. If your pet is in need of a haircut and a good bath, you may want to check out a local pet grooming service. Here’s how to pick the best one for your pet. Get Referrals Family and friends should be your first stop. They might know of a good pet groomer in your area. Referrals are a large part of any business. Most groomers make an extra effort to make sure their customers are satisfied. If you are coming to a groomer via a recommendation, tell the person. The groomer will be happy to know that their business has a great reputation. It is likely they will go the extra mile to make sure you are pleased with their services. Groomers are most often found in large pet stores, veterinary offices and stand-alone storefronts. You can find them through your local newspaper, Yellow Pages or online. Make a list
of groomers that are conveniently located near your home or business. You will drop your pet off and picking them up later in the day. Visit and Ask Questions Visit groomers on your list and inspect their shops. Check for cleanliness and professionalism. The service area should smell fresh and clean. The pet waiting room should also be free from debris and chemicals. Observe how the groomer and staff interact with animals and customers. Nothing can be more difficult than a slick, wiggly pet. But a groomer should be gentle. He should never yell or jerk a pet around. Inquire about their services. Do they groom both cats and dogs? Is there a separate waiting area for the two types of pets? Can you choose the shampoo? Are nail clippings and anal gland expressions part of the package, or do these services cost extra? Checking about these things ahead of time will spare you the shock and disappointment
when you bring your pet home. Some groomers do not perform these services. It’s important to know what you can expect. Also, be sure to ask about medical services. What happens if your pet has an emergency while they are at the groomer? Does the groomer have a relationship with the local veterinarian? Another option is a mobile pet groomer. These professionals have a vehicle with everything they need to groom your pet in front of your house. If traveling is inconvenient, mobile pet groomers might be an option for you. Bringing Your Pet Prior to scheduling an appointment, bring your pet to their office. Observe the relationship between your pet and the groomer. Are they comfortable with each other? Tell your groomer if your dog is sensitive to having his or her nails trimmed or ears cleaned. Some dogs are terrified of the hair dryer. Mentioning it to your groomer help the situation be more successful and less stressful.
DURING WORLD WAR II
What an impact brave teacher had (EDITOR’S NOTE: This story was written in 2002 by the late Vernon Brookshire, a brave soldier who fought during World War II and came home to work for many years at the old Echota Cotton Mill in Calhoun. He sent me many stories relating his memories about World War II and other subjects over the years, and they recently turned up again in a box at my house – ready to be shared with a new group of readers even though he passed away 10 years ago at age 90. Mr. Brookshire prefaced this story with the following introduction: Schools are soon to open for pupils and teachers. I recall with gratitude and deepest respect the past concern and help of those noble teachers that taught me. They are worthy of honor. These thoughts about teachers remind me of an encounter with a German school teacher during World War II who had compassion for her young pupils. Here is this story taken from my three-inch-thick binder of “World War II Remembrances.”) By VERNON BROOKSHIRE I had an encounter with a teacher which occurred during the final weeks of WWII in Germany. My driver and I were on reconnaissance in my jeep on a rural road when we were flagged down by a German woman waving a white handkerchief. My first thought was that it might be an ambush. After visually searching the surrounding area, I did not see anything suspicious. The German woman approached my side of the jeep. She spoke excellent English. When she told me that she was a teacher, my awareness of danger abated. I had trusted and respected all the teachers that I had known. With tears in her eyes, she entreated: “Some of my pupils, young boys, are up this hill in a cabin, armed with rifles, and have vowed that they will
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shoot at the Americans until they are killed. Will you please NOT shoot them, and go with me and try to persuade them to surrender?” She had the audacity to ask me to risk my life to try to solicit the armed boys to surrender. I could see rifle barrels sticking out windows of the cabin. Then I noticed that she had positioned herself between me and the cabin. She had probably saved my life for the boys were waiting for the first Americans to come down this road! I inquired if there was an SS soldier with them. I knew from experience that most German youths were fanatical and beyond negotiating a surrender, especially if an SS soldier was pushing them. She replied that there was no one with them. I agreed to go with this brave, compassionate teacher. Leaving my carbine in my jeep, and my driver behind my .30 caliber machine-gun, I followed her up the hill to the cabin. We stopped just outside of the door of the cabin. She said something to the boys and nodded to me. I moved to her side so the boys could see that I was not armed. As nearly as I can recall, I said something like this: “Young men, I admire and understand your patriotism, but the war is nearly over, and if you shoot me, you will die in vain. You can serve your country better by staying alive, and help your country recover. Come out unarmed and you will not be harmed.” The teacher translated my words into German. I must have been believable, and said the right words, because, after a few moments, they came out unarmed. I disabled the rifles, and we went down the hill to the road. The teacher was overjoyed and thanked me profusely. I have wondered if the boys ever realized the impact that one woman, a teacher, had on their lives.
Marvin Phillips: “The difference between try and triumph is a little umph.”
WE NEED YOUR HELP! The Best of the North Georgia Mountains is looking for out-of-the-ordinary residents to interview and share their stories with our readers. If you know of someone who qualifies, or if YOU are that someone, give us a call at 678-882-6741 or email us at bestofnorthgamountains@yahoo.com
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your town and one thing has never changed there. It’s that nobody driving through Cadiz, South Carolina has ever driven UNDER the limit. Your Honor, I write you NOT to complain about my speeding ticket. I paid off that ticket three weeks ago, and that’s why I didn’t come to your court hearing last Tuesday night. I think those tickets might someday help with the traffic simulation in Cadiz. Wish this darn computer would stop fixing my spelling for me. I know how to spell! Don’t need no help! Today, I write you to tell you about a problem those tickets are cussing. Speeding tickets are making it unsafe for every buddy on the highway over there in Cadiz. Senior speeders like me try hard to not burn rubber when we drive there; I can’t afford your pricey ticket on my fixed income. But Your Honor, here’s the gospel truth about them dang-nab tickets: They’re agrafrustrating folks: You see, nowadays, when I drive under the speed limit, traffic gets backed up. Drivers following me get closer on my tail than a tic on a coon dog’s ear. I can see ‘em there in my rear view mirror. They flash their lights, honk their horns and act ugly toward me. With their hand they motion for me to “speed it up ole man.” It all started after I got that ticket. It’s making my hands twitch like a horse’s withers at fly time just thinking ‘bout it. Well, now it’s messing up my typing, too. What’d I do with that erasure? I understand the way folks in Cadiz feel. Times is hard. Y’all need that ticket money. Donuts are higher than a cat’s back at the store. But, my law abiding driving is constipating traffic in your town, Your Honor, and I can’t afford no more speeding tickets! But my slowed-down law abiding driving is got other drivers in Cadiz vexed wroth. Nowadays, when I drive through Cadiz, a convoy of cars and trucks and farm tractors and combines trail me. All of ‘em act like their drawers is in a wad. When I get to the four-lane, I do right by ‘em; I get over in that left lane so they can mosey on by me. But that don’t seem to satisfy ‘em none. Madder than an ole wet hen, they sneer and shake their fists at me. Some of ‘em flash me the bird. Dad Jim this computer! It thinks it knows more ‘en me about spelling! Your Honor, under the present circumcision of this saturation in Cadiz, I don’t know zackly what ought be done. Maybe make a change and commence to not giving out any more of them tickets for a while might work. Try it and see if it simmers down folk’s hot head over there in Cadiz. Just thought you and the Police should know about this here dilimmer. I’d be much obliged to you if you’d ponder on it for a spell. P.S. I apologize for the misspelled words. This dang computer is stubborn as a mule, got a mind of its own and it’s become my worst enema. Think I’ll throw this stupid computer in the trash and drive down to the flea market and get me a real typewriter. Agrafrustrated Driver in Cadiz, South Carolina
Unknown: “If you want something you never had, you have to do something you’ve never done.”
was used for the “grammar” school grades until a newer building was built in the early 1940s. As you might have guessed by now, I had the opportunity of attending school in this building for a year and a half. Well, in later years I felt it was an opportunity, for this old historic edifice taught me the old ways of school in a community that I later learned to love. What a heritage! When I began the last half of the first grade, I rode the bus to Epworth School which was housed in this old building. We had recently moved and were in this school district. Upon arrival, I found I would be going to school in a white building above the spring, with the high school located a short distance through the woods. The old building site is now the Epworth Community Center. As a kid, it didn't look much like a school, and at a distance it looked sort of like a haunted house! It was a two-story building and was made of clapboards and painted white. I can still see the double front doors, with some glass inserts as you entered. The halls were wide with the usual fountains, classrooms and office on the first floor. You will notice that I did not mention restrooms, for they were outhouses down a slight bank on a worn out trail from the school. The outside of the building was somewhat like we would recognize as an old church today. The foundation was rocks or old bricks. You could see up under the building. In places some of the paint was chipping and had discolored because of age, but it was a sturdy building.
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The grounds of the school were my pride and joy. I had most always at the time lived in town, and the woods were a treat to me. Actually, around the building was quite muddy when it rained. Mostly we played in the cleaned out woods between the two schools. We built playhouses in the leaves as we tossed them about. I suppose the boys were playing ball or some such game. At times we all would play red rover, skip the rope, hop scotch, and other games of the era. After explaining the outside of the building and what we did out there, you must surely think that I had not gone to school to get an education! I was in the middle of the first grade when I enrolled at Epworth. I do not remember, but surely somebody took me to that far off school the first day.
I can still picture Miss Lucille Mull My beloved teacher was Miss Lucille Mull, an Epworth native. She was crippled and had a slight sideways limp as she moved around the room. This endeared her to me for it was so unusual, and I can still picture her now. The classroom had something I had never seen, but what did I know for I was only in the first grade. The first grade seats were on the first few rows as you enter and the second grade was on the last rows near the windows. The ceilings were 12 or 14 feet high, I suppose, for I had never seen anything so high. The upper grades were “over our heads” and were on the second floor. We could hear them stomping around up there. The heat was a pot belly type stove in the front of the room and was fueled with either coal or wood, and probably both. Every once in a while the teacher would stop and stir in the fire and add more fuel. I can't remember being cold. Occasionally, some boy had to go bring in some more wood or coal. There were no hangers or hooks for coats, etc., and the teacher had put some nails high on the walls, using coat hangers for such. I was so embarrassed because my parents had just bought me a dark red coat with a little fake fur collar, and all the children would just look at it for most did not have this type of coat. I really would have been embarrassed if they knew I had just been introduced to long winter underwear to wear under my dresses. Oh, yes, no pants for girls back then, and certainly the dresses were no longer long to the floor. Of course, I sat in the first grade rows. It seems, as I remember, I got through with my work quite early and would listen as she taught the upper classmen, the second graders. I picked up quite a bit from this. But another habit I acquired was to raise my hand to go to the restroom, or should I say the outside toilet. I was one who had to have something to do at all times. I must have gotten really bored after a while, for I did something that I never thought a child would, and certainly never thought I could get away with this scheme. One day, probably about the middle of the time I had been there, this thought came to my little mind, and I asked Miss Mull about it. I said that my mother and daddy had said that since I was making
Unknown: “Sometimes you have to do what you don’t love, so that you can do what you love.”
such good grades, could I then be promoted into the second grade? Imagine, I had just sort of got started. Mercy me, I have no idea where this thought came from, for I had never pondered over it, and my parents had no idea what I was doing. Miss Mull said that I was making good grades and she would look into what could be done about going into the second grade. Mission partly accomplished! Now, to top it all, I went home and told my parents that Miss Mull had said, because I made such good grades, I probably could go into the second grade! Can you believe this? This must have been in my life's plan, for when it actually happened, it meant I caught up the year I lost when I had the dreaded scarlet fever and other childhood diseases. My folks never knew that it was my lying tongue that got me promoted, and neither did Miss Mull! Anyway, I was in the same room with the same teacher and the same kids. I remember I was much happier with school, and really I had been left behind with no fault of my own. Actually, being left behind had never bothered me nor crossed my mind. I guess I knew I could do second grade work. Well, I finished the second grade in the last half of the year and was promoted to the third grade. My new teacher was Miss Pauline Pless. Naturally, I don't remember the class work, but she took us on discovery walks, Easter egg hunts and sometimes picnics.
put them on, and realized this as I stepped into a mud hole. Scared something would happen to my new over shoes, I ran back into the schoolroom to get them, and of course, my bus went off and left me! I was so terrified and did not know what to do until I remembered the Vestals lived just behind their store, and I knew two of the children. In case it has entered your mind, there were few phones that far out of town. I went to the house and told Mrs. Vestal what had happened, and she invited me in. I knew Bobby and Alice, so we played in the living room until my daddy came to get me when he got off from work. Yes, the Vestals had a phone back then! Now, the important thing while I was at their house, I needed to go to the bathroom. They showed me into this beautiful room and closed the door. Being the scared and reserved child that I was, I would not use it for fear Bobby might accidentally open the door! Well, when Daddy came, I could not hurry him home fast enough! One event occurred that you do not hear about anymore, and that is the annual spring “Operetta.” This musical event was on the big stage at the high school. This was my first public appearance on the stage! Not only had I never seen anything like this before, but it also included costumes. Mothers were given instructions on paper as to how to make crepe
A look and a drink at the Epworth spring I supposed you noticed that all my teachers so far have been “Miss.” Up until this time, not many, if any, teachers were married. It was said then that if a teacher married, she would lose her job. Some did marry and kept it a secret. Today, we would not have any teachers, if this rule still existed. Married women then were supposed to stay home and keep house and raise a family. Though I was a quiet little kid, I seemed to be adventurous, so I made up some of my own adventures. I had always wanted to go down to the famous Epworth spring where the Indians used to drink. It was only just down the hill from the school. It was nothing to the other kids for they most all lived in the area. One day at recess I just wandered off by myself and took a look and got a drink at the spring. I did not know the importance of the spring then, but the main thing was that nobody ever missed me! Another thing of beauty to me was the then almost new Vestal's Store at the foot of schoolhouse hill at the intersection on the main road. We could see it from the school every day. It was the most beautiful building to me being solid white with windows on the front and stood out in the community. One day I decided to take a little venture to Vestal's Store. I think I bought some penny candy. After all, Vestal's son and daughter were in my class, and I felt I knew them all. While I am on the subject of Vestal's, here is another story that took place one day after school. Because of the mud around the school, my parents had bought me some “gloshers” which were rubber to go over my shoes. In my hurry one day to catch the bus after school, I forgot to
John Dewey: “Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself.”
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It all depends on your perspective “This story is true. There may be other versions of it that are equally true.” - Walt Kelly There was once a farmer named Elijah. Everybody knew him as Lige (pronounced lye-gee). He owned a large parcel of land east of Adairsville in a place called Pleasant Valley. It isn’t really a valley, but a plateau originally called Little Prairie by early settlers. As farmers did in those days, he grew most of his own food. And he always had a large watermelon patch. About 60 years ago, when my late uncle Charles was a boy, he and some friends that he played baseball with every Sunday from dawn till dusk decided they would raid that watermelon patch when the melons were ripe. Actually raid is too strong a word. They were just poor, and a ripe juicy watermelon was a welcome break from eating cornbread, home canned green beans, and salt pork all the time. Anyway, as my uncle once said, “We were poor but everyone around us was poor too so we didn’t know it.” They didn’t steal any watermelons but would sneak into the patch, bust several open, and eat them right on the spot. It didn’t take long for Lige to notice so he lay in wait for them one day, out of sight, holding a shotgun. When the boys snuck into the field and were about to partake of his watermelons, he fired a shotgun blast over their heads. It scared the crap out of them, and they ran like cats with their tails were on fire. That might have been the end of the story, but Lige was a wise man and wanted to make sure that they never did it again. He knew who the boys were, Pleasant Valley being a small place. So, the next day he sent word around to their parents that he wanted each of them to come to his house on Saturday afternoon. My uncle said that he was scared to death, but my grandfather insisted that he go, so he and the other boys, with great trepidation, arrived at Lige’s house not knowing what to expect. When they got there they were surprised to see that Lige had prepared a picnic table for them and served them watermelon! And every Saturday afternoon thereafter as long as the melons were ripe, they went to Lige’s house and ate watermelon with him. And more importantly they never messed with his watermelon patch again. Now I tell this story because of something I got from the quote by Walt Kelly at the beginning of this article. The idea is that what is true can depend on your perspective, or as a brilliant man named Ian Hacking once said, “What you count depends on your theory of what is countable.” Or to put it another way, how you define a problem can determine the possible solutions. For instance, if Lige had defined the watermelon thefts legally as thievery and vandalism, which they were, he could
By Ted Smith Marion T. "Ted" Smith is the author of a new book, “Life in the Park: A Novel.” It is available on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble.
have called the sheriff and had the boys arrested, but he knew their families (and he knew that disputes in those days could result in confrontations involving shotguns). A better example of what I am talking about involves one of my granddaughters. Almost from the time she could walk and talk she exhibited an extraordinary ability to “read” people. This led to several amusing family anecdotes where she manipulated adults as a small child, fooling them without their ever knowing it. I may write about them someday, but for the purposes of this column I want to talk about an incident that occurred when she was about 3. She was in daycare and larger at that age than nearly all the other kids in her class. The exception was a boy who was about her size but younger. One day he walked up behind her and hit her, then ran. A daycare worker said that she turned red and took off after him with steam coming from her ears. Had not the worker grabbed her, some 3-year-old mayhem would have ensued. From that day on she always knew where that boy was in class. Shortly after the incident, he tried to sneak up behind her and hit her again. But just as he was about to strike her, she wheeled around, pointed her finger at him, and shouted, “No!” The boy was taken aback and ran away. But neither attacking him, or at least trying to, and telling him no did not work. Now if she was what is commonly called hardheaded, which a lot of people are, she could have kept on doing one or the other with the expectation that eventually it would work. But that is insane, Einstein said, and he was a pretty smart guy. So the next time the little boy snuck up behind her she turned to him and hugged him tightly. He struggled for a bit but then settled in to her embrace. From then on he was her buddy and when they watched movies in the afternoon she always made sure he had a seat beside her. Like I said, the solution is usually contained in the definition of the problem. You just have to think outside the box. Of course, you have to realize you are in the box to start with.
Zendaya: “Don’t try so hard to fit in, and certainly don’t try so hard to be different...Just try hard to be you.”
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Anonymous: “Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.”