Category Archives: A Pocket of Resistance

A potpourri of posts on a variety of topics, in other words, what’s currently on my mind.

Notes from the Southwest Corner: End of More Than an Era, but Not an End at All

SAN DIEGO – This column is positioned, date wise, to address 2011 beginnings, but this is more about ending than beginning.

In last Friday’s “Second Thoughts” column, Lynda Leftwich Newton, Jim Leftwich, Barbara Leftwich Froula, and Jack Leftwich announced their father would no longer be writing his weekly column here.

My first inclination was to describe this conclusion as the “end of an era.”  But J.B not regularly contributing to print journalism in Middle Tennessee is so much more than just a simple end of an era.

The man and his contributions to journalism are not only woven into the fabric of our town but will continue to positively influence journalism in the future.

J.B. has been associated with the Democrat for 72 years.  He was also a reporter for the Nashville Tennessean.  His direct impact on journalism in Middle Tennessee cannot be overstated.  The Democrat; Tennessean; Nashville Banner; and our other local newspaper, the Wilson Post, have benefited from J.B’s writing and photographs.

J.B. Leftwich’s indirect impact on journalism is even more widespread and will continue to have a positive influence across our country for generations.

He has been far more than a prolific reporter, columnist, and photographer of great repute.  He has been a teacher, coach, mentor, counselor, disciplinarian, father figure, and friend for at least five decades of journalists. A week ago, I once again sought and received his wise counsel.

He has guided us through the principles of effective news reporting and editing.  He has taught us how to market and sell advertising, maintain financial records, transfer skills from the linotype (hot lead) layout and makeup to the computer age cold type pages of today without losing the smudges of newsprint on our hands, the smell of newsprint running off the presses, or the ink in our veins.

Many of his students departed to apply J.B. Leftwich’s principles in other careers, in their writing, and in the way they walked the halls of their businesses.

Some with newspaper infused into their bloodstreams, went off to other pursuits, only to return in some fashion to the world of journalism.  I am one of those.

Many never stopped the pursuit J.B. discovered for them. They worked at their craft and succeeded to the highest levels at newspapers across the country.  In doing so, they passed on the legacy of J.B. Leftwich.

All who have fallen under his guidance have found his lessons reach far beyond the discipline of print journalism.  We have been exposed to how to live one’s life well, how to remain steadfast, loyal, and how to live our lives by doing what is right.

I considered eliciting quotes from former editors of The Castle Heights’ Cavalier, the national award winning high school newspaper, and The Adjutant, the school’s annual.  I almost picked up the telephone and called David Hall.  David, a cousin of mine, is one of the most successful Leftwich products.

David Hall’s success carried him through the Tennessean; Chicago Daily News; Chicago Sun-Times; Pioneer Press and Dispatch in St. Paul, Minn. where he was managing editor and executive editor; the Denver Post as editor and senior vice president; editor of the Bergen (N.J.) Record, and editor of the Cleveland Plain Dealer.  David became the first Pulliam Visiting Professor of Journalism at DePauw University before his retirement.

Before I elicited quotes or called David, Rob and Susan Hosier, the couple who keep Castle Heights and its memories alive, sent me a list of former editors of the two Heights publications.  The count ran to almost 100.  Then, I realized there were many more who carry the Leftwich legacy.  For example, Sam Hatcher worked the business side of the Cavalier and Frank Sutherland, former editor of the Tennessean, was a reporter for the Adjutant.

There are no quotes or tributes from others here.  This is my column, and it’s my tribute.  J.B. Leftwich, his wife Jo Doris, and their family are just like family to my family.  He continues to give me guidance, inspiration, and motivation.  I think about him every time I sit down at a keyboard.  He is one of my closest friends.

One of my greatest honors is to be considered as a fellow-columnist of J.B. Leftwich in the Democrat, the newspaper I grew up reading.

I will miss his columns, but I hope his guidance will continue for a long time.

Take MeDown to the Trolley Station

oh, take me down to the trolley station;
i shall catch the orange line downtown,
find a bench at an intersection.
to watch all of the folks pass by.

i will not need more than a bottle of water
along with a pad of paper and a pen;
i’ll wear my straw fedora for sunshade
while sitting and watching the passer-bys.

those walking past will entertain me
with a variety of all i see:
the good, the bad, the quiet, the loud.
all different with a take on life their own.

i’ll watch them and identify with all;
parts of me i see with each walking past;
i’ve been there; i’ve done that,
good, bad, caring indifferent, all.

i will spend several hours there,
then catch the trolley back;
please pick me up, take me home;
and i will be all right.

tonight, i will have a glass with Mr. Dickel
reflecting on what i’ve seen,
those who passed by me
reminding me of what i’ve been.

it will have been a good time spent;
tomorrow will be near the same,
i won’t take the trolley downtown then;
i’ll go to the zoo instead.

Old Haunts

Back in my old home town,
i passed an old haunt of mine;
went there most evenings
when i had nothing to do;
it was shuttered;
plywood covered the windows,
windows out of which i peered,
saw a ten-point buck
in the side yard one night
i parked in the weeds overtaking the lot
in the back and walked through knee-high grass
to the un-boarded main entrance;
peering in, i saw dust and cobwebs,
pieces of furniture strewn about,
the shuffleboard table gone;
i turned toward the road:
cars and pickups hurdling past
on the four-lane road
rather than the occasional pickup,
which back then, didn’t hurdle anywhere,
that passed on the two-lane road
when i lingered here;
a sign by the door
announced it would be soon torn down
to make way with a strip mall,
anchored by a convenience store,
including a cleaners, a franchised burger place,
a liquor store, a hair salon, and several more.
i returned to my car;
sitting there for a moment.

i realized that old haunt of mine
was a lot like me, a lot like me:
we were dilapidated, past our time,
lost in a world that passed us by;
i had a lot of dust on eighty years,
cobwebs of memories in my head,
not much more;
my world is filled with weeds,
not manicured lawns,
certainly not fake lawns;
i will be replaced by folks
glued to their phones,
buying the latest fad,
hurdling by in their electric automobiles,
ignoring the past.

that old haunt doesn’t fit in today:
it was too comfortable for today;
not much plastic, only a juke box
in the corner playing country called oldies;
i am comfortable but
certainly not plastic,
playing a lot of oldies,
waiting to be replaced by convenience.