Things are not always what they seem, and names for items do not always give much insight into the actual origin or use of those items. Take hats, for example. Panama hats are actually made in Ecuador.

I remember well the first time I suffered a back problem. I was a teenager, probably about sixteen, and I was at the home of Marie, my youngest sibling on my father’s side. I was playing with her son Billy, my nephew, who was a few years younger than me. Other of my nieces/nephews/Billy’s cousins might have been there, but I only recall for sure the two of us.

I recently received an email with the phrase, “It’s weird being the same age as old people.”

My father had three full sisters who lived to maturity—Duskie, Fleetie and Vallie. One of them was once talking about their names. One sister said, “They gave Frank [my dad], Fred and Faustine normal names.” Another sister replied, “Well, Mother sure whopped it to us!” My uncle replied, “Who ever heard of a man named Purse?”

Why Work?

The Union County Public School System lost one of its very best teachers to retirement this year. Not only was Ms. Kerrie Scruggs a wonderful educator, she was a caring person and good friend. Ms. Kerrie’s husband Steve wrote a book, and my fellow Gideon brother gave me a copy. The book explained why Steve’s father always ate a good lunch at work. I’ll return to that thought shortly.

One of the best favors parents can do for their children is to take them to the dentist very early in life. This prevents so many problems in the adult years.

We are told that teeth are meant to last for a lifetime. That doesn’t mean that periodic maintenance is not necessary. Just like houses, teeth have to occasionally be cleaned and taken care of to prolong usage.

I can’t say for sure when I first met “Mayor” Michael Bailey, but I believe it might have been at one of WMRD’s Saturday night singings.
Michael was a unique person, with an unquenchable desire to sing, praise God, and socialize within our community. He always had a smile on his face, a joke to tell, and a song on his heart.

One of the benefits, sometimes the best benefit, and for some the only benefit, of marriage is the occasional free humor it can provide.

This particular tale goes back to the blissful premarital years when I was dating my wife. My wife throughout our entire relationship has seemed to have an uncanny knack of being the living example of “if it can happen to anybody it can happen to her”. In this particular case she contracted cellulitis. Cellulitis, without referencing Google, is an affliction that can turn to gangrene and cause loss of limbs and even death in some cases.

I met with Lisa Carter, the fine principal of Maynardville Elementary School, last week. She was on the phone when I arrived, so I had a few moments of leisure to look around her office. On the wall directly across from me was a saying—“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”

I consider myself typical of most of the human race, particularly in one respect. When the car is running fine, it is a wonderful machine. When it breaks down for the very first time after the 60,000 mile warranty expires, it becomes a worthless piece of junk. Such it is with my cable provider.

When I was a “tiny twig”, before I became a “bent branch” (or a “twisted trunk”), I owned a handful of records. Only a few of those were Christmas records, but one of the records advertised a Charley Pride album “Christmas in My Home Town”. I had one Charley gospel album, and I for years wanted his Christmas album. In my adult life, I was able to get my copy of “Christmas in My Home Town”. As irony often dictates, when we want something and don’t have it, there is a void. When we get what we want, it sometimes comes to us multiple times.

How did you spend your fall break? Well, I took my wife to several doctors most days of that week. I did manage to finish reading at least one book, portions of a few others, shop at KARM, eat out with a friend, mow my and my neighbor’s yard, and put up a storm door at my home library.

I have always thought it my destiny to own a Lincoln. Car, that is. Yet it never quite seemed to work out for me.

It did work out for my sister Anna Mae, my mother’s only daughter. She once bought a beautiful four door Lincoln sedan that had belonged to a judge. I don’t remember the model, but I can see that car in my mind. It had a steel blue exterior, dark blue leather interior, and looked practically brand new. It had an electronic dash and air shocks.

For no apparent reason at all yesterday and today, my mind wandered back to memories of my brother, J. C. Truthfully, I think of him often, most probably daily if truth be told.
Particularly in the days of my early childhood, J. C. (James Clyde) Mincey was in many respects very much like Archie Bunker. (Oh, younger generation, Google and learn!)
J. C. was probably rougher than Archie in the days of his own youth, but I wasn’t around for that.

I have lived my entire life in Union County, save for almost four years when I was an undergraduate student at Lincoln Memorial University.

I once attended a service at Loveland Baptist Church when Rev. Oliver Wolfenbarger was pastor. He rose to preach and announced his text. It was the same text he had used the previous Sunday.

Preacher Wolfenbarger said, “I know what you’re thinking—poor ol’ Wolfenbarger’s losing it. He don’t remember that he preached on these same verses last week. I just want you to know, that I know I preached this last week, but I didn’t get finished. What’s more, I’m just as crazy as you think I am.”

I was saddened to learn just last week of the passing of a colleague from my first eight years teaching at Luttrell Elementary School. I have throughout the years had many colleagues, most of which were just acquaintances, but a few who became treasured friends.

This is the fourth of a series of articles on the history of Wood Dale School in Union County, Tennessee.

Picture it—I’m sitting in my living room in my usual spot on the loveseat. It’s the evening of the day of my latest medical procedure. I was not able to eat solid food for one full day before the procedure, so I am indulging in a delicious supper of fried egg and bacon sandwiches that my wife prepared especially for me.

I can remember a time when all my meals were eaten at the kitchen table with my mother and father. At that time it would have been unthinkable to eat a meal in the living room in front of the television. A snack, maybe, but never a meal.

I signed the many papers required to buy my house on May 1, 1991 and moved that weekend. My colleague Deanie Carver used her pickup truck to help me move several boxes of books (of course, these important items were first to be moved). The late Adrian Shoffner and Rev. Joe McCoy helped me move the household furnishings. Preacher Joe has never forgotten the ordeal moving that upright freezer into the basement turned out to be. I felt so guilty that I didn’t go to church that Sunday, but I couldn’t find my dress shoes in time to get ready!

This very day I received the following statement in my email:

Every Southerner knows that tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; that scrambled eggs just ain’t right without Tabasco, and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.

There has been since the beginning of American history a distinct difference between the northern and southern parts of our country. Many of these differences are God ordained, such as the geographical features. Allow me to provide a very simplistic view.