This is probably going to be edited a grunch later, but the opening hit me when i woke this morning, early as usual. So i sat out on the patio with my coffee as dawn passed me by while i completed the first draft. Being me, i decided to share it now, rather than after another edit or two or three or…

The Tempest Sea

have  you heard the gale wind howling
from the fetch on the open sea
‘bout 450 leagues south of the Arabian monsoon
that created the tempest sea?

have you stood on the bridge wing staring
at black waters with roiling foam below
while the ship rolled more than forty degrees
just shy of the point of no return
‘bout 60 leagues east of Cape Hatteras,
the bane of the Atlantic sea?

have you increased speed to run ahead
of a typhoon’s angry winds,
hoping to make it across the South China Sea
‘bout 100 leagues west of Luzon?

have you flinched when green water, not spume,
climbed across the forecastle’s decks
to smash against the pilot house
while you hunkered down inside
‘bout 150 leagues nor’east of Nova Scotia?

if you ain’t felt the sea’s fury,
an old mariner can tell you
while you are in it, you ain’t afraid
‘cause you’re too busy doing
what needs to be done to worry
but
when it’s over and the seas are calm
you get a little scared;
you marvel at the woman we call the sea,
fall in love with all her moods
and
wish that you were home.

i posted a memory, a photo of my father and my grandmother on Facebook today with several comments.

It is getting late. i may have written about this before. i don’t care. i’m blowing off going to bed even though i missed my nap this afternoon. i don’t care if somewhere in this King Minos labyrinth,  modern style, i have written of this incident before.

This is my time tonight.

It was 1950. i was six. It was autumn a month or so after i started first grade at McClain Elementary where my mother and father attended, and my father helped my grandfather, the city’s school custodian, fire the furnace in the morning, and clean up in the 1920’s and 1930’s afternoon.

My mother with my sister in the stroller, walked with me to Tarver Avenue. McClain was located in the middle of the block between South Tarver and South Hatton. Her account claimed we stopped there and i told her i could go myself the rest of the way, and she didn’t need to come get me because i could walk home those three blocks or so by myself.

Knowing my mother now, i am amazed she acquiesced. i also think it could have been the creation of my pocket of resistance. From that day on, except for rainstorms or snowstorms, i walked to and back to home every day. Our neighborhood swarmed with children. The gang would leave school and walk home in groups up the truly Main Street in town.

My group of six or so would begin. By the time we got to my house, there were only about three or four of us. Ronnie Collinsworth was in  my first grade class. He lived up Wildwood Avenue, about another block. That day, for some reason, Ronnie began picking on me, being a reasonable facsimile to Scut Farkus in the movie “Christmas Story.”

By the time we reached my home, i apparently reached my limit with Ronnie, put down by books, among which was Fun with Dick and Jane. Ronnie charged me swinging. Now, it’s a bit too long ago for me to remember exactly but i think it was a right cross i connected on Ronnie’s left jaw. He hit the ground, started crying and ran home.

Mama Jewell was then living with my Aunt Naomi Martin caddy cornered across the street. She had been sitting in the living room knitting, reading, or other things grandmother’s do in front of the picture window as the fracas was going down. She saw the drama played out.

My mother was working part time at several jobs. My other grandmother, Katherine “Granny” Jewell was the child care go-to, and taking care of my sister, my infant brother, and me when i got back from school.

Mama Jewell picked up the phone, asked the operator, who probably was my Aunt Naomi Jewell Martin, to dial 339R. The phone rang. Granny went to the narrow hall in the center of the house and picked up the phone headset off the base.

Mama Jewell told Granny Prichard their grandson didn’t do anything wrong; that the other little boy started it all, and their shared grandson shouldn’t be punished.

It wasn’t really cool enough for me to build a fire in the hearth, but i did. Maureen made an Italian sauce — she will correct my incorrect description later — and served it over polenta, aka grits, along with another salad perfection of hers.

We dined on our dinner trays while watching THE game with a nice red blend.

i watched a game that didn’t involve Vanderbilt or the Padres for the first time in a while with mixed emotions. A dear young lady, Laura Grabowski, is a graduate and huge, huge fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes. A close friend from home, Louis Thompson, who married the woman who was my “sweetheart” in the 1962 Castle Heights annual, was a star defensive tackle for Paul Bryant at Alabama.

Since the Bear took me under his arm and talked to me like a son back in ’64, and my Commodores are in the SEC, i favored the Tide. As i watched, the fandom thing sort of vanished. i just sat there and marveled at the incredible athletic ability of every player on both sides. It was an amazing performance, only dimmed by the dumb reference to “physicality,” which from Webster’s i interpret being physical and not real bright, by Kirk Herbstreit in his unrelenting over-analysis of play after play, a common…no, the new norm for sports play-by-play and analyst commentators, which, in my mind, is — pardon my French — bullshit.

Still, i enjoyed watching some rather spectacular football and wondered how many NFL teams, ‘Bama could beat.

Then, Sarah took Billie Holiday, her wonderful dog, to her bedroom and went to sleep. She had a long day. Maureen faded and went to bed. i left the embers in the hearth and sat down at this infernal machine with the last of my wine…AND a Three Musketeers candy bar.

My favorite Christmas present this year came from Maureen. She has heard my story many times and remembered. The story?

Growing up, the only grandfather figure i, Martha,  and Joe knew was Wynn Prichard. He was my great uncle. i have written about him before.

“Papa” and Aunt Corrine lived in a farm house with a tin roof on their farm at the intersection of Hickory Ridge Road and Blair Lane in Lebanon, Tennessee. When i was very young and my sister Martha and then my brother Joe were younger, Papa would come to see us around mid-day every Wednesday. Papa owned a 1929 Model A Ford. i’m pretty sure it was the only car he ever owned. He took out the seats of the rumble seat in order to do two things: 1. To carry his two fox hounds to the fox hunts  he attended for pretty much all of his life, and 2. To carry his produce to market on Wednesday to Lebanon’s “Farmer’s Market.”

After he had sold his wares at the market, which then was located somewhere at the top of East Main Street, Papa would drive home but stop en route and park his Model A on the side of the road in front of 127 Castle Heights Avenue.

i was waiting. And when he emerged from his car in his khaki work shirt and pants with a wool cardigan and a felt fedora,  i would run a full speed and leap into his arms. Papa woulds shuffle me to his right arm, dig into his pocket with his left hand, and dig out a Three Musketeer’s candy bar. Unceremoniously, he would hand it to me. It did not last very long. It remains my favorite snack of all time.

Well, my child, er, my wife gave me a box of thirty-six Three Musketeer’s candy bars as a Christmas gift.

i just finished having one of the thirty-six.

And as i get ready to accomplish the old man routine putting the night to rest, i remember Papa and those glorious Wednesday’s when that old Model A would come to a halt in front of our home.

Good night.

i have been wrestling with some weird problem with my relatively new Mac Air for several months and about thirty hours with Apple Care and an Apple store to resolve the issue.

This afternoon, Darla, a senior supervisor walked me through a process that seems to have worked.

So maybe, just maybe, i’m back in the real world again.

In doing the work and checking out old stuff, a photo popped up. i have cropped out the goofy guy. After all, we are working on thirty-seven years, and the woman in this photograph was like the Clover’s “One Mint Julep:” she was “the cause of it all.”

i am working on this being one of my signature photos here, Facebook, and other places. But for now, i wanted to post this because this day, July 30, 1983, was the real beginning:

My Thoughts About Where We Are and Where We Should Go 

i have wrestled with my desire to remain out of this fray. i am not, not taking sides. i am sure the radicals on every side will not take my comments that way and either point to it as promoting their contentions or ridiculing it and me for being for the other side. But folks, as Peter Finch’s character Howard Beale declared in prophetic movie “Network” (although the media hasn’t yet reached the extent of the film plot) declared, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!” It is my time to take my stand, even though i may be the only one standing in this position.

*     *     *

On September 17, 1796, George Washington presented his farewell address as the first president of the United States of America. In that address, he warned, “The alternate domination of one faction over another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge, natural to party dissension, which in different ages and countries has perpetrated the most horrid enormities, is itself a frightful despotism.”

During the following term, Washington’s successor, John Adams pointed out “a division of the republic into two great parties … is to be dreaded as the great political evil.”

*     *     *

On April 14, 1865, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated.

His plan for reconstruction reached out to the former Confederate states to provide a peaceful transition to becoming one nation again. The plan was not well received by Congress but likely would have become reality had not the assassination occurred.

The Vice-President, Andrew Johnson, became president. Although Johnson, a Tennessean did not agree with the plan in that he thought it was too lenient, nevertheless attempted to carry out Lincoln’s plan. However, the cabinet and congress wanted revenge, to teach the South a lesson. This resulted in the failed impeachment attempt of Johnson and much harsher treatment of the South.

*     *     *

Washington and Adams’ fears have reached fruition. The constitution has been polluted by party interests becoming more important than our nation and our citizens. It has now reached trench warfare mentality resulting in protests and violence. I have had dear, intelligent friends on both sides of this line of liberal and conservative war insist their right to protest was part of the second amendment only to attack the other side for protesting. Violence on both sides and in our law enforcements response is unacceptable  It is time for our politicians to join together and work to create the best laws and policies to make our country better, not act like little brats incapable of logical thought.

*     *     *

I recognize my thoughts on this will be attacked, but I believe had Lincoln remained president, Reconstruction would have been much more successful and the great divide between blacks and whites (I still despise those two terms for describing human beings) eventually would be much closer to true equality in the South. But Lincoln was dead, and blacks in the South were abused and considered second class citizens in reaction to the vindictive revenge unleashed on the Southern whites.  Even today, there are people who spout hatred of the other race.

Perhaps I am naïve and acknowledge hate of human beings of different race, ethnicity, religion, and political beliefs have been ably demonstrated throughout history and are certainly rampant in our country today, both directly and indirectly.

Execution of Lincoln’s plan might have diminished that hatred to only a few. Unfortunately, we will never know.

We have the opportunity with the terrible assault on our constitution on Wednesday, January 6, 2021 having just occurred, to once again reach out, as Lincoln did, to work together to make our country stronger and much, much better.

However, the pointing fingers began as the assault was underway. The capitol police are under attack because many Monday morning quarterbacks believe law enforcement could have done better, and they are searching for the guilty. Anger on both sides is boiling over. Media and politicians are comparing the response to responses to the other side’s earlier protests and violence. One good friend has decried that the enemy of this country are all of the white males, of which he and i are in company. I think it was these white males with many faults created by the beliefs of their time that created this Constitution with the idea of independence, quality and the inalienable rights for all of its citizens. Their idea was limited by not including all who were not white, male, or property owners.

But the ideas of freedom and equality grew and more and more white males have attempted to have those inalienable rights extended to all with significant success even though we still have a long, long way to go. As those rights were extended, women, blacks, native Americans, and many others have been allowed to participate as they should have been all along, and they have joined the effort to attain true equality for all.

The recent digging of trenches by both sides has been deeper and created a deep and dark divide among our citizens. I am not aware of anyone sitting down with the other side to attempt to find the root causes of the divide, the fear, the hatred. No one seems able to do that because they are too occupied with pointing their fingers, throwing their rocks over the wall, making unsubstantial claims (we used to call lies) and calling their allies to join the fight with them.

*     *     *

One more thought: Parts of one side of this divide decided to show disrespect for our flag. The other side adopted our flag as a symbol as if they owned it, as if it did not belong to all of our citizens. Then this group so offended by the disrespect others had shown began to desecrate our flag by modifying Old Glory to make their political statements.

The flag is the representation of our Constitution. It is not the property of one party. The Constitution grants the right of free speech. As Dave Carey once explained, we in the military were sworn to defend the constitution and therefore we defended the rights of our citizens to have free speech.

Our politicians and their followers have twisted that to somehow inexplicably to believe they have the right to say or do anything they want, including disrespect and desecration of our flag, the symbol representing our Constitution, not a president, not a party, not a movement, but our system designed to achieve equality and protect our inalienable rights but suspend that belief for the other side.

*     *     *

I was hoping this terrible insurrection would lead to our politicians to reach across the aisle to make things better, but their need for power, money, and reelection will not allow them to wander far from their party’s winner-take-all attempts. The media, looking for viewers and listeners to make more money and gain more power, are fueling the fire rather than reporting the facts.

And we, myself included, are going along with this insanity, finding fault, spewing invectives against those we perceive to be a danger to our beliefs. There needs to be accountability. There needs to be justice. There needs to be inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all.

And we need to reach out and work together to ensure our constitution, the greatest idea for governing a country ever written, remains intact and operates the way it should.

God bless America. Right now, we need his blessing and help in finding our way out of this morass.