New promise

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A new year brings the promise of starting over. Many folks see it as a point to make a resolution to complete or change things in their life. Perhaps coming out of the Christmas season gives them hope to make their lives better.
In reality, each new day brings us the chance to improve our lives. We can start that landscaping project we always wanted to do. We can visit with people we care about for whom we never seem to find the time. Remember that long list of repairs on the “Honey do” list for quite a while. Maybe you can get them done.
We do not need special days like new year’s to re-create ourselves.
Life is an experience in constant growth and learning. When we stop such growth we are stuck in a rut. I once heard a wise man say a rut is the closest thing to a grave.
Now I’m not advocating you go out and buy a Ferrari and spend a $1,000 for a luxurious day at a Palm Springs spa. We all have to live within our means and meet our responsibilities, that is what being an adult is all about. There are people depending on us.
Limits of budget and responsibility do not preclude people from improving themselves and learning throughout life.
It may be as simple as getting up off the couch and taking a leisurely walk with your love ones around the block; turning off the television and reading a good book to your children; finding out more about the community you live in and as a family enjoying all the sites, sounds, and activities including entertainment, politics, clubs, volunteer organizations and church activities.
Surprise the people in your life with something they would not expect you do. Do something that you generally depend on another family member or employee to do. Give them a break, a day or an hour or two off to do something they enjoy while you look after their responsibilities.
A new year’s resolution to lose weight, quit smoking or take better care of yourself are important worthy goals for anyone who truly wishes to attain them.
Sometimes it is the simple things which really make a difference in life. What will be remembered by those we encounter? Have we really done our very best with every task today?
Life can grow on you if you let it but the funny thing is it helps to be a participant. After you grow up though, you have to be your own coach and cheerleader, otherwise, you won’t know when to get off the sidelines and get in the game.
What’s great is God put us in the driver’s seat it is up to us however to drive the car.

The new stove for Christmas

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The family had already gathered in the valley below the Gravelly Spur for an unbelievable feast of ham garnished with pineapple, green beans in a dish surrounded by little pearl onions, mashed potatoes and gravy, and dandelion greens seasoned with just the right amount of pepper and fresh churned butter.
The dinner was topped off with one of Grandma Kitty’s pumpkin pies.
She carefully prepared each item in her cast iron pots over the open flames of the hearth. She never complained about all the work that was involved in keeping the fire stoked and having to keep such close tabs on each item to make sure they were just right.
The days following Thanksgiving always meant there would be some leftovers for the family to enjoy in a variety of creations that she would lovingly craft to give the family the illusion that they were not eating the same dishes each meal.
For years, she toiled to make the three meals a day for her ever-growing family. One day when the family went to town that summer, Grandpa Bill noticed her lingering in Ollison’s General Store around a catalog with pictures of some new wood cooking stoves.
Although she never said a word, he saw in her eyes the desire she had for a wrought iron Home Comfort stove.
He decided then and there that she would have one. So he made an arrangement with Mr. Ollison to buy the stove, paying a bit at a time through the rest of the year to have it arrive just before Christmas.
Grandpa Bill had managed to keep the purchase a secret from the entire family. He even arranged for everyone to be gone to visit Cousin Winfrey Small so that when Mr. Ollison arrived in his wagon on Dec. 23, with a tarp covering the contents, no one could see.
Mr. Ollison and Grandpa Bill unloaded the stove and set it in the kitchen. He had worked all morning preparing the stove pipe so he could get it hooked up and have it ready when she returned.
He was making the last adjustment as he heard the wagon pull up in the yard. He quickly pulled a bit of red ribbon into a bow and set it in the middle of the stove. He sat down quietly at the table with his newspaper in his hand as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
As the kids rushed into the house, they did not even notice the large stove in the kitchen until Grandma Kitty dropped the pail she was carrying with her Christmas cookies inside. She stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, her hand over her mouth, holding back a flood of tears as she saw the stove.
The sound of the pail hitting the floor brought all the kids to the kitchen, and they began hovering around the stove.
Pearl said, “Did Santa come early?”
Grandpa Bill said, “Yes, he said he would be back in a couple of days, but he thought your mother might like to have her present early.”
Grandma Kitty had moved quietly to her kitchen chair, sitting down slowly, never taking her eyes off the stove except to wipe away the tears of joy flowing down her cheek.
Pearl said, “Why are you so sad about getting a present?”
“I’m not sad dear, I am just so happy I could not help crying,” she said.
“So you like the new stove?” she asked.
“I have never gotten a better present from Santa in my life,” she said.
She rose and gave Grandpa Bill a big hug.
“Thank you for telling Santa what I wanted,” she said.
“If he could, he would give you so much more,” he said.
“I have everything I need right here,” she said, as she gathered all her children close and hugged them tightly.

“The New Stove” is from Randall Franks’s “A Mountain Pearl: Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes”

Doing nothing is an action, too

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Recently I was honored to share the pulpit for a home going celebration of one of my late mother’s friends. Van McFall was among the close-knit group of moms within the circle of my childhood that I remember well. The mothers were Pearl, Van, Mary Burgess and Nettie Fisher. They got into all kinds of adventures from taking jobs as police officers, and bus drivers. They engaged in the midst of every type of civic service from political campaigns, parent teacher associations, boy scouts, girl scouts and everything you could imagine. Their activities threw all of their children and their husbands into the mix together. While we were not related, we spent endless hours entertaining each other while our mothers spent time together. We shared family births, deaths, holidays, school milestones, first jobs – many of which were at the local Dairy Queen, and the passing of endless hours of our youth.

In my neighborhood, we had a great group of children and we all found our place in that larger group.

Getting to share a few childhood stories with her children after not seeing most of them in decades brought back some heartwarming memories. I was reminded of folks I had not thought of for years.

I remember fondly remember hours of play after completing my chores around the house. Of course, as I got older, I took on odd jobs like mowing neighbors’ yards to earn a little money.

We all would gather to play and race our bikes down suicide hill. Van’s son Joe recalled one of his attempts at doing an Evel Knievel type Snake River Canyon jump using his father Joe’s new picnic table as a ramp. With the aid of some other neighborhood boys setting the lighter fluid the table was soaked in a blaze, he rode full speed for takeoff. He jokingly said it did not end well as many of the neighborhood moms realized what was happening, they ran to overt it, but not in time to stop him. Now I was not among that group who had a hand in that adventure but needless to say I found myself in some others.

I’ve had two bikes in my life; my first bike was small and green and well suited me. When I got big enough to earn my own money, I did odd jobs to earn enough money to buy a 3-speed red English racer. I saved all year and it was a Christmas present for myself. Buying that bike meant a lot to me.

I shared in our recollections,

on one of our trips down suicide hill, the new racer decided it wanted to go one way and me another. The accident sent me flying through the handlebars and sliding down the pavement for 20 feet or more. That still hurts just thinking about it. I had sores all over me from that adventure.

My friends and I would get in our share of disagreements with each other. Those would lead usually to some hurt feelings and some rolling around on the ground till someone would say “Uncle.” We always seemed to come through it. There really were no children who caused trouble in my age bracket. A few older ones sometimes got into mischief, but we always managed to keep out of trouble.

Do not get me wrong, there were bullies. We were just blessed not to have them on our street, at least for very long. I remember when I was about seven there were two brothers who took great pleasure in picking fights with me. At least, it seemed that way at the time.

A boy my age named Chris Sands moved in. His parents had just divorced, and at that time it was not as usual as it is now. I’ll never forget one meeting with those brothers that had me at the bottom of a wrestling match that I just could not win. Chris was the new guy in the neighborhood, and saw that I was being unfairly targeted for this fight and stepped in to pull the other boys off me. From that moment on, he was my friend — that is until he later moved away, and I lost track of him.

While time has erased many of the memories of the time we spent together hanging out as kids, that one action by the new boy on the block sticks in my mind. He saw something that was not right, and he did something about it. Not knowing the social lay of the land and the dynamics of the neighborhood hierarchy, he stuck his neck out for me. That is bravery.

Now I’m not advocating fighting as a way to resolve issues for children or adults. I was taught that it takes much more courage to walk away than to actually fight. However, when they jump on you, there are just a few hurdles you have to get over before you can walk away.

It is hard to walk away when you are at the bottom of the pile

I learned a valuable lesson from Chris that day.

Folks often do not like to stick their neck out to help other people, but when someone does, it makes our community a better place.

While that was a childhood lesson which placed something within me. As I reflected back upon the relationship that those four ladies shared, I am reminded that they stuck their necks out for one another and each other’s family again and again. Doing everything in their powers to make life better for each other and subsequently all of us, even though it wasn’t as apparent to us children. There was always something more to do when there was a need.

A mountain elf

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The winds pounded upon the side of the house sitting in the shadow of Gravelly Spur Mountain and seeped beneath the cracks around the windows and doors letting the chill of winter in the walls warmed by the wood stacked and burning in the fireplace.

The sound of bells tinkled as they were pulled from a wood box which sat by the evergreen tree placed with love in the corner of the main room.

Pearl tied the small bells with yarn to the boughs. In a small pan, Grandma Kitty popped corn which would soon string into lengths to surround the tree from top to bottom.

“Well, that should be enough,” she said. “Everyone find a place and let’s get busy.”

The time spent stringing brought all the family ‘round to sit upon every open space as stories of Christmas passed were recalled and hopes and wishes for the coming yuletide rang through the laughter.

“I want a wagon,” Nellie said as Pearl used her to model the popcorn string instead of the tree.

Little Ma, Grandad Bill’s grandmother sat closest to the fire with her sewing in hand, refreshing the dress of the angel which he would soon place on the treetop when all was said and done.

Soon one of the children started singing “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem,” and the rest would join in as the work continued.

A knock at the door brought Bill to find no one there. He stepped outside on the porch seeing no one in sight and not a footprint visible in the light smattering of snow on the ground.

“No one is around,” he said as he returned to his work.

“It was the mountain elf making sure we were hard at work preparing for Christmas morn,” Little Ma said.

“The mountain elf,” what’s that Pearl said as she rushed by her side at the fire.

“You see when our people came to the mountains, from Scotland and Ireland, many of them came with their trunks filled with clothes and bits and pieces of the past from the old country. The elves crawled in alongside the bits and pieces and came to live here with us,” she said.

“What do the look like?” Pearl asked.

“I’ve never seen one but they say they are just like us but smaller,” she said. “They watch after the bits and pieces and make sure they are cared for.”

“Why did they bang on the door,” Pearl asked.

“The bells and this angel were some of the bits and pieces that came over and have passed down through the years,” she said. “They like to see us using them, it reminds them of home. Christmas is the time of year when we all think of home and what has come before and hopefully what will be. I think that is why they knocked, so they could look inside when the door opened. I think when we hang the bells and they ring, it brings them.”

“Do they help Santa on Christmas, is that why you call them an elf?” Pearl said.

“In a way, we are all mountain elves, we all tend to each other’s things, look after one another and help make sure that what is needed be gotten, if it can be got,” she said. “So I reckon they do help him, just like each of us do dear. Now, we best be gettin’ this tree decorated or Christmas will be come and gone and we will have missed it.”

The group begins to sing “Jingle Bells” as the popcorn is wrapped around the tree and the bells swing and ring. Pearl runs to look out the front window to see if a mountain elf may be spying from the other side.

Appalachian heartwarming with Dolly and Stella Parton, Crystal Gayle to join Opry

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Dolly and Stella Parton are coming back to NBC on Wednesday, Nov. 30 at 9 p.m. (E.S.T.) with “Christmas of Many Colors: Circle of Love.”
Both sisters make special appearances in the film, while Dolly introduces the film and serves as narrator.

DOLLY PARTON'S CHRISTMAS OF MANY COLORS: CIRCLE OF LOVE -- Season: 1-- Pictured: Dolly Parton as Painted Lady -- (Photo by: Quantrell Colbert/NBC)

DOLLY PARTON’S CHRISTMAS OF MANY COLORS: CIRCLE OF LOVE — Dolly Parton as Painted Lady  (Photo by: Quantrell Colbert/NBC)

The greatly anticipated Georgia-lensed sequel to last year’s “Coat of Many Colors” is a family-oriented, faith-based movie starring Jennifer Nettles (Grammy Award-winning singer/songwriter and actress), Ricky Schroder (Golden Globe® Award-winner for The Champ, NYPD Blue), Alyvia Alyn Lind (Blended), Kelli Berglund (Lab Rats), Mary Lane Haskell (Coat of Many Colors), Cameron Jones (Shortland Street), Stella Parton (Green Corn), Hannah Nordberg (American Pastoral), Farrah MacKenzie, Parker Sack, Forrest Deal, Dylan Michael Rowen, Blane Crockarell and Gerald McRaney (Major Dad).
The film continues with the story of young Dolly Parton as the Parton Family experiences a true Christmas miracle drawing the Partons closer together than ever – with deepened faith and love for one another. The film delivers Christmas joy and peril as an unexpected blizzard threatens the Parton family while Dolly’s and Stella’s father and his kids make sacrifices to raise enough money to finally buy his loving wife the wedding ring he could never afford. Meanwhile, an important person in little Dolly’s life begins to see that her amazing voice and musical gift might just be made for something bigger than rural Tennessee.
For those who wish to have it as a stocking stuffer, Warner Bros. Home Entertainment will make it available on DVD on Dec. 20 with special features for $19.98. To learn more about Dolly, visit DollyParton.com or about Stella, visit StellaParton.com.
Grammy-winning songstress Crystal Gayle was surprised during a recent Grand Ole Opry performance by Opry member Carrie Underwood with an invitation to become an official Opry member. Gayle will be formally inducted into the Opry on Jan. 21, 2017 by her sister, Opry legend Loretta Lynn. Gayle made her Opry debut nearly 50 years ago on the Ryman Auditorium stage, singing the country classic “Ribbon of Darkness” at age 16.
Underwood surprised the sold-out Opry at the Ryman crowd by joining Gayle on the smash hit crystal-gayle“Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” Seconds after finishing the duet, Underwood turned to Gayle and said, “You are an inspiration to so many of us. You are important to country music, and you are important to the Opry, which is why I was asked tonight to ask you if you would like to join our Opry family officially.”
Accepting her friend’s invitation with a hug, Gayle said, “I have always felt like I was a member of the family and this is just so special.”
“For more than half of the Opry’s 91 years, Crystal Gayle has been lending her signature vocals to Opry shows and connecting with Opry audiences as well as with everyone backstage,” said Opry Vice President and General Manager Pete Fisher. “She is family, and we are very excited that she’ll become an official Opry member early next year.”
For more information, visit crystalgayle.com.

 

Civility, is it “Gone with the Wind?”

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As I have surfed through social media and watched news reports of late highlighting the actions displayed following our elections, it has broken my heart to see that we are at the point when men and women cannot be more effectively self-governing with their words and actions.
Many years ago, I penned the following thoughts which reflected on the changes of civility I was seeing in my native South. It saddens me beyond end to see the impact that mass media, music, education, and upbringing has had on the next generation as exhibited of late, so I thought I would find some hope in these thoughts:
I have been blessed to travel to many parts of the United States. But there is no feeling to me like crossing those imaginary lines created to define the South.
I breathe easier. I worry less. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the portrayals of Southern gentility in Hollywood movies.
In 1939, there was nothing more shocking in film than Rhett Butler’s “Frankly Scarlet, I don’t …” You know the rest.
In the 1960s, television gave us shows like “The Andy Griffith Show,” which were still genteel on and off the screen. I remember George “Goober” Lindsey once relaying a story about him saying a few off-color words while waiting for the next shot on the set. He did this in spite of a warning by actress Frances “Aunt Bee” Bavier, paraphrasing, “That we don’t speak that way on this set.” She pummeled him with her umbrella. He didn’t do it anymore.
“Civility” refers to the politeness we see every day. The things that make the day a little nicer. These are the things that most Southern parents instill in their children. At least I hope they still do. “Yes, sir,” “No, ma’am,” “Please,” “Thank you,” “Respect your elders,” “Ladies, first,” and “Don’t cuss” are just a few of these civilities.
In my travels, I’ve been places where these acts are so alien to them they look at you like you’re from another planet. Where foul language flows like water from a faucet. Where if you stopped to show respect to a funeral procession, you would probably wind up in one yourself, in the lead car.
What is sad to me, in my recent travels around the South, I’m seeing more and more examples of Southern civility fading. The sales clerk or cash register attendant who ignores you or doesn’t respond to your greeting. The person who doesn’t respond to a kindness like holding a door with a “thank you.” Young people not showing respect for their elders. Foul language ringing out in public.
I don’t know whether these examples are due to a lack of parenting, a lack of respect for others, or the saturation of poor-quality TV, films and music in our society during the last few years. Variety of program choices is both a blessing and a curse. Unfortunately, language and visual images that wouldn’t make our series “In the Heat of the Night” in 1990 are now commonplace on the networks. I think Southern civility is becoming a victim of us trying to fit into what we are seeing on television and in film.
In recent years, Southerners in series television act more like transplants from Los Angeles or New York with a Southern accent. Considering that’s where they are probably from, it’s not surprising. The late Carroll O’Connor once told me that “we all say things to be polite.” For example, “Can I help you with that?” when someone is carrying a load, expecting, maybe hoping for, “No thanks, I got it.”
I hope we never lose that in the South. Kindness, politeness, Southern civility is not “Gone with the Wind.” It’s hopefully just swaying a bit in the breeze of popular culture. Maybe it’s just gonna take a few more Aunt Bee’s to remind all of us Goobers how things are supposed to be.
I pray that Americans will once again find the civility and respect for each other that is not only expected but required for a democratic republic to endure and thrive. May God bless us and keep us, everyone.

A privy and some plums

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The gentle falling of snowflakes takes me back to the days when cold weather would bring a tough decision at the old family homestead.

Being cold in the winter was a common experience, since the only heat came from a fire in the main room. Grandma would always be the one up early to get the fire going before anyone else was out from under their warm down covers.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, the call of nature would come upon me. Unlike our house in town, where the bathroom was only about 15-feet down the hall, I was faced with a decision to make a 20-yard dash to the outhouse or simply utilize the chamber pot.
Most would use the chamber pot. But for some reason as a kid, even when the temperature dipped into the teens, I would push myself to put on my old black leather work boots and my brown quilted coat with the hood and make the trek up to the old white pine outhouse.
It wasn’t a very fancy building, much like those depicted in so many arts and crafts designs. The lumber from which it was made was hewn by hand and weathered by years of use. A simple wood latch kept critters from wandering in there with you. It wasn’t always successful, however.
I remember one time my little cousin, Wilbur, was making use of the facilities. Wilbur wasn’t very tall for his age. With his small frame I wonder how he managed not to fall in, I had trouble myself when I was young. After a few minutes in there, he ran out pulling up his britches, claiming there was a creature attacking him from underneath like the monster from the black lagoon. After investigation, we discovered that it was a two-legged dominicker from the hen house which apparently had decided to peck more than the ground.
In the summer, without air-conditioning, evenings were spent sitting on the front porch to catch a breeze to ease the heat which built in the house throughout the day. A trip to the old privy would find many types of crawly and flying critters, although they seldom bothered me except for an occasional sting. I seem to remember that happening one time. I then spent the rest of the day with a Bruton Snuff poultice attached to whatever part of my body the critter stung.
While I can reminisce fondly about trips to that quaint little building, as someone who was raised in the city, I must say that with the exception of the great solitude of the outhouse amidst God’s great outdoors, I did much prefer modern porcelain versions.
However, when the plums come in, I often wish I could take a trip back to the outhouse. About 20-feet beyond it was a red plum tree that often required my attention. I just loved making a trip out there to eat my fill.
Of course, my mother and grandma would warn me to stay out of the plums. “If you eat too many, you will get sick,” they would say, and they were right.
If I spent an hour up that plum tree, I would spend most of the next day about 20 feet away.
Thankfully, I never got a visit from the dominicker from beneath.
From Randall Franks’s “A Mountain Pearl: Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes.”

Whose America will it be?

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As I place these words to paper, the outcome of the 2016 presidential election is yet to be decided.
I would like to join the throngs of those saying the rhetoric has made this one of the worst election seasons in history, but I know as a student of history many before have been as bad or worse, they just were not in our lives.
I will say this, it has been one of the worst that I have seen but the greatest difference is the violence that has been carried out by individuals who chose to attack persons, steal or vandalize property because they expressed a different preference in the race.
Assuming that the votes are in and tallied and a winner of the popular vote declared, after the electoral college meets next month to finalize our process, then there will be a new president elect who will take office in January.
It is time now for our country to come together and heal from the political turmoil of the last 18 months.
Whomever is the victor, whomever is the loser, ultimately what is important is we are Americans. We are all Americans and as that we should rise to a higher standard and treat one another with the respect that our forefathers and mothers would expect.
Generations struggled, fought and died so that we may enjoy the fruits of their labor and sacrifice and build upon their shoulders. We owe them and ourselves the effort of reaching for the stars and walking a path to make our country a place where we see each other through the eyes of understanding.
We should be able no matter where our hometown is, to walk down our streets safely, enjoy the opportunities to pursue our dreams, whether that means, raising a family, working a job, or running a business, possibly providing jobs for others.
We are Americans, in the wake of this election that is what we are first, no political ideology should have precedence over who we are because that one element is what has provided the strength that has allowed our country to prevail throughout our history.
If we spend our time fighting amongst ourselves, we will never notice the threats aimed at our republic from outside or miss those individuals on the inside with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar wishing to do harm at home.
Assuming as I write, that there are no more post-election revelations that upturn the normal order of things, I encourage you to pray for our country, pray for our new leader, but most of all pray for the healing of the wounds that have been inflicted upon our country and its people from many sources in recent years.
We are better than what is seen on television, newspapers and on the internet. So, remember what America is and will be is up to us. Don’t disappoint, start by loving your neighbor as yourself. One person at a time, that will be a legacy, we should build upon.

A mule in charge

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In the valley below the Gravelly Spur Mountain there was a partnership of sorts between the humans and the animals that worked the farms to create the crops that helped feed them all.
There was no more needed partner than the mules that helped to cut the furrows straight along the curves of the mountainsides near the old apple, peach, pear and plum orchards that bore the fruit for summer canning of preserves and drying for the special Christmas cakes that helped make each season a little more fun for each family.
Young Pearl had a knack with the animals and especially the mules around the valley. No matter whose they might be, she always seemed to be able to get them to like her too.
On the Wood farm nearby it was old Pete that helped to make each workday that much easier.
All the kids loved old Pete, though he wouldn’t let anyone ride him. It was like he was a kid himself especially in the summer time. As all the kids rushed towards the swimming hole once released from their chores, you would see Pete traipsing behind them headed there too. He would be the first to climb to the leap overlooking it, jumping into the waters below as his black coat shimmered in the summer sun until he plunged deep into the waters below.
This was the only time that anyone had a chance to climb up on old Pete’s back as the kids swam along. While keeping a float himself, Pete had no power to buck them off.
One time the Wood’s hired man Richard decided he was going to teach Pete a lesson and break him. Richard was a big man, so Pete seemed small as he climbed up on him, and wrapped his long legs below Pete’s belly and twisting his toes together so Pete could not buck him off.
Pete finally got tired of trying and instead of being broke; he simply lay down and rolled over with the hired hand still attached. Needless to say, it wasn’t Pete who got broke in that maneuver,
While it was hard to realize, Pete was getting to old and weak to continue his tasks around the farm and Mr. Wood had grown so fond of him, he couldn’t bring himself to take him out and shoot him as many did when their usefulness had faded, so he decided to trade him in on a new mule.
He took him up to Shirley’s Trading Post and with the addition of 15 dollars U.S.; he traded Pete for a light brown mule named Mary. She had all her teeth and appeared as though she had many years of plowing and hauling in her.
As Mr. Wood began at first light hitching the plow to Mary, he could see that she had a reluctant streak that was deep and wide within her. It was a fight to get her moving and keeping her on the straight and narrow pulling each furrow.
As an experienced worker with mule, he did all he knew to get Mary in line but to no avail.
Finally, he went back to the house and called to his five-year-old boy Bryant to come and assist.
He told him to climb up on her back facing backwards; he cut a peach limb and handed to him.
“Boy, you just hit her with that if she starts to balk,” he said.
Mr. Wood hated to hurt any animal; he knew that young Bryant’s coaxing would be more like a nuisance than a whipping to Mary. So it began a long day of getting Mary accustomed to her duties.
By the next day, things were no better except this time after a night of rubbing cornstarch on the inside of his legs, Bryant got a piece of broken machinery belt that came from the valley saw mill to serve as a shield between he and Mary’s back and the process continued.
By the third day, Mr. Wood decided that Mary was just not the mule she should be, and he proceeded to take her back to the trading post to renegotiate.
Somewhere in the discussion with Mr. Shirley the word liar aimed at Mr. Wood brought forth a flow of anger not often seen in a man such as Mr. Wood. Bryant just barely big enough to get away from his brothers in a game of tag, saw the sawdust from the floor begin to fly as the two men exchanged blows. The flying fists stirred the shavings while Mr. Wood gained ground with each swing.
Before long the ice man cometh and before you could say winter freeze, he had pulled the two up. Showing his special deputy badge he brought the match to an end.
He told them both to settle their disagreement peaceably so the sheriff didn’t have to be summoned.
The iceman asked Mr. Shirley if he wanted to give Mr. Wood back his mule and the money or give him a new mule.
Shirley agreed on a new mule; so the threesome headed back home, with yet another helpmate for the farm.
This time, the white mule named Ada was one that actually wanted to participate without Bryant sitting astride whipping him along the way.
While he was no Pete, it was not long until the kids loved him too.
The moral of the story is simple, if you plan to trade a mule, be sure he or she is willing before you have to see the shavings fly.

Bill Anderson and Charlie Monk reflect on life in the country

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Songwriting icon and legendary performer “Whisperin’ Bill” Anderson released his new autobiography Whisperin’ Bill Anderson: An Unprecedented Life In Country Music recently.

AndersonCompA2.indd In addition, listeners can sit back and enjoy a NEW audio book narrated by Bill Anderson. The audio book bundle also includes a Bonus CD featuring 10 never-before released self-penned acoustic recordings by Anderson, including smash hits like “Whiskey Lullaby” (Brad Paisley/Alison Krauss), “Give It Away” (George Strait), “City Lights” (Ray Price) and seven more.

Whisperin’ Bill Anderson: An Unprecedented Life In Country Music is a representation of Anderson’s journey, and published by University of Georgia Press. Read by Bill Anderson himself it features eye-opening personal stories from his nearly eighty years of living – from early days of radio broadcasting in Georgia, to standing alongside the greatest country music stars in the world onstage at the Grand Ole Opry, to meeting Elvis Presley, to being named BMI’s first ICON Award winner in the country music genre.

The book is a 360-page reflection of Anderson’s journey includes Peter Cooper as a contributing writer. It includes rare, never-before-seen photos and eye-opening personal stories from Anderson’s nearly eighty years of living – from early days of radio broadcasting in Georgia, to standing alongside the greatest country music stars in the world onstage at the Grand Ole Opry, to being named BMI’s first ICON Award winner in the country music genre.

With the 2015 success of Mo Pitney’s “Country,” Anderson has become the only country songwriter to tally a Top 40 hit in seven consecutive decades, and he stands today a legendary performer, who recently celebrated his 55th Anniversary as a member of the Grand Ole Opry.
The book is available for $29.95 at Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, various independent book stores, and online at www.BillAnderson.com and Amazon.com.

If you work in the Nashville music business and don’t know the name Charlie Monk, you probably haven’t been around very long.  After all, he is the “Mayor of Music Row.”  This year, Monk is celebrating six decades of blood, sweat and tears in show business.

“When I started out in 1956, I wanted to be a radio or TV star or maybe an actor,” recalls Monk.  “I found out when I moved to Music City that I was a lot better at nurturing other talented people which got me into the management, publishing and production side of music.  I’m proud that I have made a good living for my family, had a lot of fun hanging with super talented folks and doing a lot of different things in the entertainment world.”

Monk recently attended his 60th high school class reunion in his hometown of Geneva, Alabama.  During his visit, the town presented him with his very own roadway, “Charlie Monk Lane.”

“Everybody in Geneva, Alabama, population 4,500, knew that I was the poorest kid in town but they knew that I was a hard worker and many of them gave me jobs and encouragement,” he says.  “It took a village to raise me. I am unbelievably honored with this recognition and thank the mayor and city council for having the ceremony during a reunion of my 1957 high school graduating class. ‘CHARLIE MONK LANE’… that’s pretty cool.”

Charlie Monk may know everyone working in Nashville’s music community. Outside of that community, Monk may very well be Nashville’s most influential unknown. Whether entertaining America on his daily SiriusXM radio show, managing Monk Family Music or hosting a major music event, he is honest and frank in everything he does. It’s his unique personality, combined with 60 years experience in show business, that has made Monk one of the most respected executives on Music Row.

Through the years, Monk has developed strong instincts. In 1983, for example, Monk signed a young singer/songwriter named Randy charlie-monkTraywick — now known as Randy Travis. He signed Kenny Chesney to his first songwriting deal and negotiated his first record contract with Capricorn Records. Songwriters Monk has signed “off the street” include Marcus Hummon, Holly Dunn, Jim McBride, Keith Stegall, Aaron Tippin and Philip Douglas.

Monk Family Music Group published songs have been recorded by Travis, Tippin, Led Zeppelin,  Lonestar, Reba, LeAnn Rimes, Tracy Lawrence, The Mavericks, Cheap Trick, Kenny Rogers, Sandi Patti, Glen Campbell, Otis Redding, Louise Mandrell, Trick Pony, Carolina Rain, Ike & Tina Turner, Jeff Treece, and John Michael Montgomery.

Monk’s entertainment career began in 1956, sweeping floors at WGEA in Geneva, Alabama. He landed a weekend air shift at the station and remained throughout his high school years.
A founder of the Country Radio Seminar, Monk produced and hosted the annual New Faces Show for over 40 years. He is an alumnus of Leadership Music, lifetime Director of the Country Radio Broadcasters, a member of the Country Music Association, the Academy of Country Music and the Gospel Music Association. He has served as VP of the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, VP of the Nashville Songwriters Association International, VP of the Gospel Music Association, Board of Leadership Music, and local President of the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (now known as AFTRA-SAG).  Monk was inducted into the Alabama Music Hall of Fame in 2014.
This year, Monk is nominated for induction into the Tennessee Radio Hall of Fame as well as the Country Radio Broadcasters Hall of Fame.