Sometimes there are points in life when one reflects on topics that bring worry, sadness, concern or even depression.
They can pile up on our mind like leaves falling from the trees in autumn covering the roots that feed our soul. Read more
I covered the cloth in furniture polish and pushed it across the top of the wardrobe, removing each object perched there and giving it a good going over.
When I was a boy, I always wondered what was on top of the wardrobe because I couldn’t see it. Now I wish I didn’t.
Dust seems to find its way into every place in our homes. I found it this past weekend settled in places that I was amazed it could find its way into.
Those dust bunnies that seem to playfully dance across the floors ran from my vacuum as if they were in fear for their lives. But after much effort, I managed to once again make my room a haven from the sneezing brought on by these allergens.
I have often wondered where all this dust comes from. I could understand when we kept windows and doors open to let in the cooler air, that it would sneak in from outside on those molecules which keeps us ticking.
Today though, with almost every house closed up tight to keep in the air conditioning and heat, I am amazed at what sneaks through. I have filters on every vent, yet it still gets in, piling up underneath and on top of everything that does not move.
Dust is similar to the things that we let into our lives when we pay little attention to the details as we rush through each and every day.
The words uttered by a love one, important to them, but seemingly a nuisance to us, that we appear not to hear or acknowledge — some dust piles up.
The unknown person we cut off in traffic who the goes home and yells at their child or worse yet in anger causes an accident — some dust piles up.
The task we are assigned at work that we half-heartedly complete thinking no one will notice its insufficiencies — some dust piles up.
We don’t volunteer for that much needed charity project, though we have the time, and we have the right skills to make it happen — some dust piles up.
We don’t spend time with our loved ones because we are simply too tired and need to relax by watching the game or going out with our friends — some dust piles up.
We do things, we would prefer others not know about — some dust piles up.
Easily, just like a neglected room in the house, we can allow corners of our lives to become covered in small particles that pile up. Over time, much like the whimsical dust bunnies playfully dancing across the floor, these particles build up higher and higher.
Sometimes in life the piles eventually get so high they impact our relationships with others, create problems we cannot overcome, and leave us lying in the dirt gasping for breath.
It never hurts every now and again to take up a wide angled broom, turn on every light in your house, and sweep away all the dust, making things clean again. Put the problems and struggles in the dust bin and close the lid. It is amazing how clearing the air will allow you to breathe easier.
Appalachian fiddler, humorist and actor Randall Franks, “Officer Randy Goode” of “In the Heat of the Night,” was inducted into the Tri-State Gospel Music Hall of Fame Aug. 6, 2022, at Parkway Baptist Church in Fort Oglethorpe, Ga.
Randall Franks Induction: Randall Franks (center) is inducted into the Tri-State Gospel Music Hall of Fame by (left) TSGMA President/Founder Herb Oliver and TSGMA Chairman Will Dickerson. (Photo by Robert York)
Franks was included in a class of inductees including Kelly Nelon, the late Rex Nelon, Peg McKamey Bean, Ruben Bean, Woody Wright, Adam Borden, Darren Haskett, Jeff Kelley, and Willie Kitchens. The Tri-State Gospel Music Hall of Fame, based in the Chattanooga area, includes Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama.
“It was such a wonderful honor to be inducted into the Tri-State Gospel Music Hall of Fame,” Franks said. “Thank you to Ken Hicks, Will Dickerson and all the Tri-State Gospel Music Hall of Fame board for this honor.”
At the event, Franks also appeared with The Nelons and the TSGHOF house band led by pianist Curtis Broadway to perform with the Hall of Fame Choir and the Scrap Iron Quartets.
“My journey here would not have been possible without God’s ever present hand opening doors for me to share for Him,” he said. “I thank my late parents, Pearl and Floyd Franks, all those who encouraged me along the way, those who played or sang with my acts, or those who allowed me to perform or record with them.”
Franks latest release is “What About All These American Flags?” from his 2019 #1 Global Americana Album “Americana Youth of Southern Appalachia.” In addition to numerous gospel songs included on bluegrass, folk, country and Americana albums, his gospel releases are the Top-20 “Handshakes and Smiles” album, “Sacred Sounds of Appalachia,” “Christmas Time’s A Comin’,” “God’s Children,” “Keep Em’ Smilin’, “Precious Memories,” and “Faith Will See Us Through.”
Among his most popular songs are “In the Garden,” “Must Be a Reason,” “God’s Children,” “He’s Never Gonna Fool Me Again,” “Let’s Live Every Day Like It Was Christmas,” “Beautiful Star of Bethlehem,” and “You Better Get Ready.”
Some among the performers Franks has appeared with through his career are The Marksmen Quartet, Jeff & Sheri Easter, The National Quartet Convention All Star Band, The Morris Brothers, The Lewis Family, The Primitive Quartet, The Watkins Family, Tim Lovelace, Dottie Rambo, Bill Monroe, Jim and Jesse McReynolds and many more.
“So many lessons were taught, and doors were opened for me by Marksmen leader Earle Wheeler,” Franks said. “Without his ever-present involvement in my gospel music career, it’s safe to say I would not be receiving such an honor.”
Franks said this accolade is owed to those behind the scenes who made it possible.
“I appreciate the support of the promoters, the disc jockeys, the print journalists, the record execs – Chris White and Norman Holland, engineers, and all the groups who shared the concert stages,” he said. “It is an amazing journey. Most of all, I appreciate those folks who showed up rain or shine, to listen, applaud, buy records, tapes and CDs, and those who maybe bought a Coke or provided a meal along the way.
“I am eternally grateful that folks allowed this Georgia fiddler who sings on key from time to time and shares some corny Appalachian humor to come into their lives,” he said.
Franks most recent film is the multi-award winning “The Cricket’s Dance.” Franks shares in a Best Ensemble Cast Award for his portrayal of “Dr. J.A. Anderson” in the film. He is currently completing the American Revolution era film “The American’s Creed.”
From left the 2022 cast includes: Caleb Lewis, Dawson Wright, Todd Watkins, Randall Franks, Colton Brown, and Ryan Stinson.
77 YEARS OF AMERICAN MUSIC – Appalachian Actor/Entertainer Randall Franks and his Hollywood Hillbilly Jamboree recently celebrated its 77th Anniversary Performance at the Colonnade in Ringgold, Ga. for the North Georgia EMC. The show was started as one of the several stage productions operated by Grand Ole Opry and Western Film star Ramblin’ “Doc” Tommy Scott in 1945 as part of his Herb-O-Lac Medicine Show Productions. In the Heat of the Night co-star Franks took the reins of the Jamboree in 1990 adding other TV favorites such as Donna Douglas and Sonny Shroyer and fellow music stars. “It’s been such an amazing time of music with lots of laughs,” he said. “Our largest concert audience during my tenure was 30,000. What fun that was! I am thankful that folks have an interest in supporting what our ensemble brings to the stage – music, comedy and family fun. Continuing the traditions – that is what it’s all about.” The eight-decade legacy includes screen and music legends such as Uncle Dave Macon, Stringbean Akeman, Carolina Cotton, Ray Whitley, Johnny Mack Brown, Sunset Carson, Fuzzy St. John, Lash LaRue, Tim McCoy and many more. From left the 2022 cast includes: Caleb Lewis, Dawson Wright, Todd Watkins, Randall Franks, Colton Brown, and Ryan Stinson. (Randall Franks Media: Photo by Regina Watkins)
That may sound like a strange question but after you already have a whole hoard move in on you, what’s a few more?
I was filming a movie outside Nashville when I noticed that I had an extreme need to reach down a scratch my leg again and again. I wasn’t even filming outside where you might expect them to pay a call. I just had picked the critter up along the way.
Read more
I reached down and pulled out a freshwater oyster shell from the branch next to Washington Road and ran up to my grandma who was leaning on a fence post nearby. “Is there a chance I can find a pearl?” She looked at it and said, “You already got one, and she’s your mother.”
As I occupied my time exploring what types of rocks I could find, she was getting the mail from the box. After she closed the gate behind us, we walked back up the gravel drive to the worn whitewashed four-room farmhouse to which Grandma Kitty Bruce retired after selling the farm at the head of Sequatchie Valley. The little 18-acre place was near Dayton, Tennessee, and my grandma’s siblings and their farms. The area was where her Mama Rachel and Daddy Phil moved when they migrated from Tellico Plains, Tennessee, in the 1800s.
She stepped up onto the front porch that ran the length of the front of the house. She leaned against the second porch post and looked back down towards Washington Road, almost retracing the steps that she had made in her mind.
My Aunt “Duck” (Norma Jean) came through the screen door. It banged loudly in her wake. She was fanning herself with a folded Dayton Herald saying, “It sure is hot today … it sure is hot… What did we get in the mail? Is there anything in the mail for me?”
She sat down on the porch swing. I crawled up next to her, and grandma continued staring off into the distance.
It wasn’t long before my mother Pearl came through the house wiping her hands with a dish rag saying, “Well, I’ve got the dishes washed. Now we got to see about getting this boy of mine a bath.”
“Aw, Mom, I took one before we left home,” I said.
“Yeah, and you are going to take one before we go to town too,” she said.
The plan was already in the works, and I didn’t even know they were a-plottin’ agin me… I had been running, jumping, and enjoying the morning. It wasn’t even dinnertime, and I had already covered every inch of the place from post to post. While Mama was washing the dishes, she had been heating extra water to fill the wash barrel on the back porch.
She had pulled out a bar of grandma’s lye soap and a bristle brush, and before I could say, “scat” I was belly deep in water feeling like that brush or the soap was ripping the skin right off with every stroke.
I can still hear her a saying, “This ought to run off any chiggers you might have picked up.” ‘Course, I had chiggers too a few times, and I believe the bath was worse.
That is one thing about bath day and clothes worshing day. They were sights to behold. When you got several folks in one house all needing a good worshing and only one bath barrel on the back porch and you had to heat the water to fill her up, it took a lot of effort to keep the water replenished. Course, on real busy days that water didn’t get much changin’.
When the clothes worshing was being done, it was soap, rub boards and worshtubs. ‘Course, I do remember when Grandma got her an agitating worsher with a wringer on the top of it that you turned with a crank, and then you’d hang the clothes out to dry.
Eventually, everybody was ready, and we’d all climb into the blue and white pickup truck — mother, grandma and my aunt in the front and me in the back if I promised to be good and head to town, sometimes to the grocery, sometimes to the dime store.
I’d usually talk my grandma into gettin’ a strawberry or grape Crush at the fillin’ station. They sure did taste good on a hot July afternoon.
Occasionally, we’d just take off an’ go a-visitin’. Folks don’t do that much these days. That’s going to some kin’s house without being invited, sitting and gabbin’ for hours. Maybe helping them pick apples or tomatoes, cut okra. Sometimes the women folks would turn in and help with the cannin’ while the kids found adventures of their own or were put to work breakin’ beans.
I remember what seemed like long walks to the outhouse, especially at night when you’d drather not make that journey unless you just had no other choice.
I can see my breath rising above the handmade quilts as I lay in the old metal post bed on cold mornings. I dreaded putting my bare feet on the cold wood floor. The only advantage to getting up was in knowing when I passed through the bedroom doorway, the kitchen would be warm. I could already smell the bacon fryin’, the cathead biscuits in the stove and know that breakfast would soon warm my insides even though the outside was chilly.
This walk up that old gravel drive for me is a fond reminder of some childhood visits to Grandma Kitty’s farm in Rhea County. The time there was sometimes slow, sometimes sad, sometimes filled with joy or pain, and other times filled with angst; but no matter what the experience, it was a place that evokes a feeling of a rural South that used to be — when you wore your best to town, when you helped your neighbor, when though you may have disagreements among your kin, you came together in one accord when facing the outside world and you took care of your own.
As I scanned the banquet hall filled wall to wall with people, I saw many faces that struck a memory of meeting in the past.
Through the years with some of them, I had even become what might be described as friends. People with whom I had shared common experiences, told stories and found the opportunity to know more about. Read more
