Christmas is coming. Toys will be high on many a list. My grandsons have outgrown toys but not that many years ago I got them remotecontrolled helicopters. “Man, we had nothing like these when I was a boy.” That thought took me back to the days when kids made toys. As a boy, nothing thrilled me more that walking up... READ MORE >
I grew up in a simple house. My parents built it in 1947. In the early 50s we kids had chores and among mine was cutting grass. I cut the grass all the way out to the Augusta Highway. Beneath the pines west of our driveway I’d push the mower in a herky-jerky way. Mow-shove, mowheave, mow-push, and so it... READ MORE >
Growing up in landlocked Lincoln County, Georgia, I never worried about hurricanes. I left that to folks on the coast. Hurricanes were not to be feared. If anything, downpours from a hurricane’s rain bands brought welcome relief to a long, hot summer. Well I sure got that wrong, didn’t I. My first memory of a hurricane is Hazel. I don’t... READ MORE >
When you write about earlier times as I often do, you hear from people who lived the very days you describe. Over the course of summer on into September Mr. Russell D. Mellette, 86, has been writing me on a regular basis. A former writer at The State newspaper and a fellow who worked in public relations, he’s well-suited to... READ MORE >
At first I thought men had poured cement onto the beach. Protection against an encroaching sea, I figured. The waves had scoured it good, brushing tresses into it. I walked south a ways, shaking my head as to how man tries to harness nature. Then I saw rocks jutting from the waves, not cement, but rocks. At once I thought... READ MORE >
Here in the classic South, we have two choices when it comes to national parks. We have the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee and we have Congaree National Park near Columbia, South Carolina. Chances are it’s the closest national park to you. On a hot and humid Sunday I paid it a visit. Right off I saw a... READ MORE >
We all cross paths with a person we can’t forget. And so, a man by the beautiful name of Moses Corley lingers in my mind. If every life is a song, then Moses’s life was a sad, sad ballad. Moses worked as the janitor in the library of a college where I once taught. He loved his job. Said it... READ MORE >
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