Words can inspire in many forms

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Writing is a constant companion to me. It has been since my early days in school. Perhaps it is something in the genetic make up passed along similarly as in my more well-known cousins whose works have inspired the world – Mark Twain, Agatha Christie, Robert Louis Stevenson, Emily Dickinson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, T.S. Eliot, and Edgar Allan Poe.

My efforts to string words upon a page so readers can cast their eyes and evoke a stream of thought or create an emotion, pale in comparison to the least of theirs.

For those of you who have journeyed with me in my 23 years of creating this column, I thank you for sharing your time in my continuing opportunity to reach you with what flows from my heart and mind.

Many of you have delved a bit farther by reading one of my non-fiction books or even my mystery “A Badge or an Old Guitar.” This year I plan to take readers into a new place with my novella “Southern Crossing” and hopefully inspire with a devotional.

My tenth book recently came out and it was my third co-author. I spent a year with 93-year-old former Ringgold, Ga. Mayor Joe Barger and his wife Barbara. My earlier works in this area were with entertainers Ramblin’ “Doc” Tommy Scott and Violet Hensley. A foray into metallurgical engineering, his occupation, was a stretch for me although I easily grasp the area of government and politics he also inhabited for 48 years.

“I worked closely with Randall while I was mayor, I knew there was no one I trusted more to help me chronicle my 93 years and share Barbara’s and my story,” he said in an interview following its release.

Hearing this was uplifting to me. Joe and I served side by side for six years on the city council. I was his vice mayor. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we found the best way forward for our city’s residents and businesses.

As part of the book, I spent weeks at the city hall. I read all the minutes from his 48 years in office and transcribed what I felt he might like to share and then we worked through the years adding context and stories about the people he worked with and those that lived in the town.

He was introduced to Ringgold by joining a college friend on a trip back home in the 1950s. He would later land a job with Combustion Engineering in Chattanooga, Tenn. which began his passion for metallurgy, he said.

Though the North Carolinian loved serving his neighbors, he wanted to write about his professional experiences as a metallurgical engineer to share some of his wisdom with future generations of welders.

“There were so many lessons that I learned as Combustion Engineering allowed me to develop new patents on so many applications to enhance what we did in nuclear energy development,” he said. “And there are many simple aspects of welding that I thought might help other young welders. I wanted to write some of that down.”

After serving in army intelligence during the Korean War, Barger returned to Ringgold to marry the love of his life and regain his position at Combustion, he said.

“My job took me around the world solving problems and sharing the success of what we were doing for Combustion in Chattanooga,” he said. “I couldn’t asked for a better company to work for or a better bunch of people to work beside helping light up the world.”

Working closely with Joe and Barbara on this book has been one of the greatest experiences in my life.

Their story is in many ways, the story of small town America. I think his book will be a great resource for anyone who might like to look back at what Ringgold was and how it got to where it is today.

“Testing the Metal of Life: The Joe Barger Story” by Joe Barger and Randall Franks is a 496-page book featuring over 550 photos and is available at www.RandallFranks.com/Joe-Barger .

Future or past, which has more?

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My brother asked me, ‘Are you living in the past?’ I often do find myself lingering within my memories. As time passes, I think it is easy to place more emphasis on what has gone by in your life than what is ahead.
That is probably especially so for someone who spends a great deal of time writing. You depend on your memories of experiences, people, places to bring your writing to life, add color, excitement and depth.
You think about the summer days running through a spraying sprinkler with friends with slippery green grass beneath you bare feet. A call from the porch brings us running and dripping as my folks cut up an ice cold watermelon on the back porch handing a piece to each of the kids. As we smiled while chewing it to the deep green rind the red juice ran down our faces and hands leaving us so sticky but oh so satisfied.
Standing outside the closed green apartment door, I wait for my first date or someone to answer it. I’m afraid that I might do something that would embarrass her or myself in some way as the evening progressed. And finally when the evening was a success, after finding that I didn’t make a fool of myself. I realized there was some hope she might actually like me.
Looking out from behind the deep burgundy curtains to see one of the first audiences for which I would perform at my elementary school, feeling my heart beat faster and faster; hearing the parents and students talk among themselves as the curtain came close to the opening.
The smell of diesel fills the air. I’m standing outside the tour bus anxiously waiting to catch a glimpse or maybe even shake the hand of an icon. He’s about to enter the Cathedral Caverns to record an album. I had not yet met the man who would play such a huge role in my life. His name was Bill Monroe.
Looking across a wooded area where we were filming a TV show, I was waiting to see the arrival of television icon Carroll O’Connor. I could have never imagined the impact the steps he took into my life that day could change the rest of my life.
Holding the hands of my father and mother as they stepped through to the other side, I remember them leaving their shared memories, deepest cares, greatest concerns, highest hopes and wonderful dreams with me.
A few years back, I wrote a book series called Encouragers that has kept me embedded in the past for about three years. It provided me with some wonderful times folding myself into the past. It can be a great inspiration to look back and it can also bring great sorrow if one dwells too much on what is gone rather than what is to be.
With the conclusion of the writing stage of of my three-book Encouragers series: Finding the Light; Walking with the Masters; A Guiding Hand; I was hopeful and excited to look towards the future to create new opportunities, new adventures and new memories to write about.
Each day that dawns gives us the chance to write another chapter in our life or the life of another we may not even have met yet. Will you use this day to create a great adventure and make a difference? I am going to do my best to achieve that same goal, I hope you do too!

A laugh to make life worthwhile

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When I find myself frustrated with the things that come my way, there are always two places I go. First, I go to the word of God; secondly, I go to God’s gift to the world — comedy. God must have a sense of humor; just look at all the great things he gives us to laugh at.

When I was little, I always looked forward to “The Red Skelton Show.” When the network finally took it off, I remember being very upset. I remember literally rolling in the floor and laughing, ‘til it hurt, at the routines and characters of this master entertainer.

As a musician, the craftsmanship of musical comedy by Victor Borge still fascinates me.

These skilled conveyors of mirth made me and millions of others laugh without bad language, lewd comments or off-color humor.

So many people have made me feel better in my life with just a few minutes of their artistry.

The situation comedies that I have seen a thousand times still can take me away and lighten my heart, shows like “The Beverly Hillbillies.” The network did not envision the impact those characters would have on America and the world. I am blessed to know Donna Douglas “Elly Mae Clampett.” She and Buddy Ebsen, Max Baer, Jr., and Irene Ryan have brought me endless hours of feeling good.

Irene Ryan’s “Granny” became so much a part of my childhood that her real life passing affected me as if she was a member of my family. I still have the newspaper clipping in my Bible after all these years.

She had worked a lifetime enjoying many successes, but it was not until God opened the door for her to play “Granny” that she lifted millions around the world out of their problems for a few minutes a day. I just have to think about some of the outlandish things that she, the Hillbillies and their support cast did to bring me out of the doldrums.

Saturday nights at seven at our house were the “Hee Haw” hour. It would be impossible to list all the wonderful cast members of that show.

Grandpa Jones, Minnie Pearl, Junior Samples, Archie Campbell, Gordy Tapp, Roni Stoneman and the entire cast could take the corniest routines and bring them life. They made Saturdays at seven something to look forward to.

I would be remiss not to mention the comedy talent of all the cast of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Don Knotts’ unique ability to take the simplest sentence or reaction and make it funny is an amazement. If there were comedic actors like that today, new television comedies might be worth watching.

I did enjoy the sit-com  “Frazier” in the early 2000s also. Those actors truly are superb with the material the writers gave them, but I still would rather see Andy, Opie and all the gang.

I was once told that as an entertainer it is our job to take folks away from their problems, whether with a three-minute song, an hour-long television show or a live appearance.

I hope that my walk down memory lane with some of my favorite comedy people may have helped you think of something that makes you laugh, and thus makes you feel a whole lot better. I know I do.

Where are we headed?

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Freedom of movement is an opportunity many Americans take for
granted.
If you have the money, you can travel by bus or train to points
around the continent and via plane or ship overseas. A personal car
or truck is also a blessing to those who may have the means of
purchase, upkeep, gas and oil.

For generations back to people moving around on bear feet, then
horses, donkeys and mules, when our ancestors took the notion, they
simply packed a few items and point.

Movement was so important to the Ancient Romans; they built roads
connecting points around the empire. Feet carried merchants,
soldiers, slaves and free citizens to places they never imagined.

I remember growing up around folks who seldom travel farther than a
day’s walk or horse ride from home. In fact, taking the annual or
bi-annual production of the farm or hunting was often the longest
trip seen.

With the addition of Mr. Ford’s affordable vehicles to the mix, the
common man could venture beyond their normal circumstances. People
who had never seen a city, the mountains, the deserts, and the sea
were able to do so at their own speed. They were no longer tied to
the cost of a ticket, a stagecoach, or a train, or later the bus.

I remember traveling on the Greyhound and Trailway buses. I even took
two extended passenger train trips. It was generally a cheaper way if
your family couldn’t afford a car or couldn’t spare it to take a
trip away.

As I look upon the landscape of what we see around us, I have the
feeling that there are those who wish to catapult those of us with
little back to the days when we are confined to where our feet might
carry us and no farther. Vehicles are becoming so expensive, for
many, they will not be able to have one. Passenger trains are being
heralded as a future option in my region again, I imagine they will
rebuild all the bus and train stations as they push us further back
in historical practice.

In the early days of vehicles, there were all kinds of ones being
invented. There were some pretty durable electric cars in that first
30 years. Once again, they are pushing us that direction, but to me
their ability for durability, reliability, providing power, is a pipe
dream. I watched a report about a man whose car was recently stranded
where he was vacationing due to extreme cold and an inability of
charging stations to work. He had to find another way home and have
it shipped back.

Men, women, families are amazingly resilient. We have survived for
thousands of years. We have migrated throughout the world on foot
before the first wheel was invented. Then the four-legged animals
joined us in our efforts making travel better. With each leap
forward, we went farther, but our feet still came along for the ride.
While there are segments of our world looking to carry us towards the
stars, there are others wishing to limit our freedom of movement and
keep us within 15 minutes of our home for most of our life. They will
have various reasons, none of which matter in the spectrum of human
history. Ultimately, it will be the freedom of the human spirit that
will decide, where we go, and when. The how may take us backwards, or
it may take us farther than we imagined. Either way, we humans will
maintain our freedom of movement; it’s a natural as breathing. We
will.

Living Up to Family Legacies

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One is the sum of all that creates what you are – genes, heritage,
education, experience, wisdom, history, and view. Though I come from
meager Appalachian beginnings – God fearing parents and
grandparents who worked and dreamed for better for their children.
God has opened doors for me beyond my wildest dreams.
Within my genes He imprinted the memories of generations past that
reached to the corners of the world in every imaginable way – as
pilgrims, sea captains, explorers, clergy, merchants, founders,
musicians, soldiers, actors, writers, teachers, generals, peasants,
slaves, lords, ladies, kings, queens, and emperors.
From the days before the Roman Empire we have touched those who have
had a hand in forging the human collective forward. Across the world,
I can point to historical elements that weave their way into my
people, my life. I could stand at the feet of statues of many of them
in cities I hope one day to visit; or outside castles, palaces, or
buildings they have built that remain as a testament to their lives.
There were some good people, some bad, and many in between. In life,
He has allowed me to come to know many of their achievements that
have inspired me to strive to create my own and to learn from their
failures and follies.
In my three score and ten, I may not change the world as many of my
grandparents, uncles and aunts did. I may not lead great nations, nor
forge great conquests with my armies as many of them did. I may not
inspire religious dedication bringing the faithful to believe and
serve as some of them did.
I will do though, what is within my power to continue carrying the
light of the family spark each and every day. For centuries the spark
passed, it has inspired men to the call of battle; it inspired men to
write and say words that changed the direction of the world.
I pray just one line I write, one performance I share, one person I
inspire holds fast with the impact as long as some of my
grandfathers’ and grandmother’s actions continuing their tradition.
I am blessed to be a descendant of many great men and women. We all
owe those behind us a great debt for what they gave us.
Take the time to remember and learn from them.

What was in the wind?

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It flew by me so fast I didn’t see it.

It was certainly a surprise that the wind would carry something so
fast.

But the actuality is that wind is simply a reflection of what we all
see with each passing day as we walk in front of the looking glass.

One day, we are a small child busy rushing to go outside and play.

Before we turn around, we are off to college, sometimes paying more
attention to what’s in the looking glass in hopes we might catch
someone else’s eye.

Then perhaps marriage and children and the glass reflects the wider
view to accommodate the added numbers.

As the gales come and go, we weather the storms of life.

The wind keeps blowing touching upon our hair bringing it touches of
gray and circling our mid-drift leaving a few pounds we did not want
left behind.

One day, we look around and wonder where it all went – the years,
the friends, the children. We see wind cross the glass and there
stands someone who we barely know. Perhaps its our father or mother,
or one of our grands looking back out at us.

The winds of time have passed our face so many times, the skin sags
downward.

No matter how much we pull upon it, we are unable to take away the
wind’s impact.

Some of us even see our hair flying along with the stream as it
let’s go from the strain of the force.

But no matter how fast it seems the wind pushes upon the streams of
our life, we are ultimately riding a similar breeze as everyone who
has come before and millions who walk along beside us.

We may guide how we accept the blowing winds, take them in stride and
realize that while the looking glass may not always reflect what we
desire, within our own head, we are who we always desired to be.

Of course realizing, that no one else has to live within our looking
glass image. When we accept that, then we can smile back at ourselves
knowing that we our holding strong upon our sails and guiding our
vessel in the direction we hope.

So, what was that, that flew by, just another day, another month,
another year, in the winds of time.

Let us ride them happily, hopefully and graciously towards our
destination beyond the looking glass.

Chase away the darkness

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When one least expects it, darkness can crawl into our souls and infect our hopes and dreams.

That darkness may take many forms: the sharp words of others; the doubt within our minds; the shortcomings of our own existence; our failures both real or simply perceived.

Any of these and so much more can push us down a path of our own dismay.

When you look upon this darkness, one must assume that it holds no weight upon you although at the time of its revealing it can seem to be an unbearable cloak of tons that wraps around you.

There is hardly a soul that walks this earth, that at some point will not see this specter become part of their existence.

But beyond its entrance, it is within our power to cast off the cloak letting our light to turn the darkness into a mere memory.

Strength of the soul is granted to each of us, its a gift that God bestowed upon us at birth. Of course, He expects us to renew the gift by our faith, whether we are finding it a new or if it is our constant companion.

I have often found my self seeking to refresh the strength that He bestowed through His word and through my prayers uplifted to Him. The darkness still manages to creep in upon the corners desiring to gain a foothold.

Those who allow that to become a presence, can easily find their path occluded. We must each day strive towards the light closer to our better nature. We must cast off any of those dark thoughts and encumbrances which might pull us down and away from the blessings in our life.

Those things, our greatest ones—the hopes and dreams that we have, pale in comparison to the ones He has for us.

I urge you, take the time, to place a light to shine away the darkness both inside and outside your soul.

We must strive each day to shine that light within our circle of life and touch all that come our way.
Through these means, we will help to keep all the corners bright.

May your days be filled with the Light of the world.

Brighter days are just ahead

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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.

Read more

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”

The Christmas Doll

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The winter of ’34 in the valley below the Gravely Spur was an especially hard one. A Christmas snow had blanketed the valley, making travel through the mountain passes treacherous, even if taken by foot.
With one false step, even those who knew the routes by heart could find themselves slipping into a snow drift hiding a potential fall.
However, for most of the children of the valley the snow turned it into a winter wonderland. Pearl, Ruby and the Wood boys were finding whatever they could ride to go sledding down Turner’s gorge. At the bottom of the gorge lay a pond formed from Frog Leg Creek which was covered in a thick coat of ice almost strong enough for skating. No one had any skates so they would simply slide across on the soles of the new shoes they received when the crops were sold.
While the children were unaware, most of the parents of the valley knew that the reality of the year had left them all in dire straits.
Toys at Christmas were largely a luxury in the valley. Even the well-to-do families were having trouble this year. The customary apple, banana or piece of peppermint stick candy that most of the children found in their stocking might be missed this year.
Pearl had sensed the concerns of her parents and with six children and four share-cropping families to help, she knew her father was doing all he could that year.
The unexpected snow however made it difficult for anything not already on hand to be brought into the valley.
Still Pearl hoped that she might find a little something for her Christmas morning that she could call her very own.
As she was sliding on the ice, she listened as the Wood boys laughed about what happened to what they got the year before.
“I can’t believe what George did to our present last year,” Woody said. “We got a whole string of firecrackers to split between us boys and he nearly run us out of the house with them.”
“He got up early Christmas morning and found them. They had this long string running through connecting them, so he took that loose and was counting them and splitting them up so we all had the same amount,” he said. “He threw that long piece of string in the fire. That thing jumped back out right in the middle of his pile. You should have seen George when those firecrackers started going off in every direction. They even jumped up in the bed with the rest of us and got everybody up in the house.”
But in spite of the snow, Santa would be making his usual stops at the Gravelly Spur no matter what. Because of the terrain, this year he would only make one stop in the valley and all the neighbors would go by Christmas morning and pick up what he had brought for the valley children.
Santa’s helper in the valley was Rev. Ben Smathers, who waited patiently Christmas Eve for Santa’s arrival. As the families came to Big Lick Church Christmas morning, he would then, one by one, distribute the gifts and the community would then gather for a celebration of Christ‘s birth.
Christmas morning, Pearl was up early, anxious for the trip to the church. In her stocking she found an orange and a stick of candy. When the family arrived at the church, she joined the other children in line at the tree and stepped up to Rev. Smathers. He placed in her arms a little blonde doll in a woven basket lying upon a blue cotton pillow.
“It is so beautiful,” she said. “Is she really mine?”
“Yes, just for you my dear,” he said. “So you take good care of her.”
As she looked in the eyes of her new friend, Pearl beamed with the joy of Christmas.
It was not stacks of gifts which made her eyes glimmer and her face shine with the light of the season. It was one simple gift of her very own given by the heart of a pastor who knew without his help many children would do without that Christmas.