Wish we still had gas stations with garages

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As I eased along a route I often took, I knew it was a straight shot
to my destination. I expected to be there well ahead of time, of
which I try to make a habit. As a sweet aroma permeated the car, I
thought to myself: “Why am I smelling a new tire inside my car?”

I looked around at the other cars while stopped at a traffic light
and realized that it could not be a new tire smell. Then it dawned on
me that it was the smell of anti-freeze boiling. As I glanced over
the hood at the puffs of white smoke easing from under my tire-well,
I knew it was time to give my horse a rest. I looked for the nearest
garage to pull off.

I’m sure some of you remember garages; in years past they were the
buildings sitting behind the gas pump. You pulled in and they could
generally fix any problem related to your automobile.

What ever happened to the gas station where they worked on cars? Now,
if you pull into the gas station, you are lucky if you can get a
bucket full of water to throw on yourself to cool your frustration
because nobody there knows anything about cars.

But they can appease you by selling you an ice cream cone, a slurpee
or even 50 cents worth of air for your tires while you wait for the
tow truck to come and take you away.

When did air become something you pay for? I wish I had thought of
it.

You might even be able to get a book on CD to get your mind off
things, that is if you could only get the car radio to play.

It seems today all you can find are those little oil change places.
You know the ones where they do one or two things extremely well, but
unfortunately cannot go much beyond that scope.

Have you noticed lately there are more and more such auto businesses.
There is a place to get your oil changed, a place to buy a muffler, a
place to get tires and a place to fix your brakes. The car repair
business is almost like doctors — there is a specialist in almost
anything and everything.

So anyway, I tooled off and found my place in line at one of those
oil change places and waited for a chance to ask for assistance.
Usually, I expect to find someone who can provide little assistance.
Instead, I found someone at an oil change place who took the time to
look at the problem and say: “There’s nothing we can do to fix the
problem, but at least let’s put a Band-Aid on it by adding some more
anti-freeze so we can get you to someone who might help.”

He suggested going to the nearby auto parts store to see if they had
any suggestions to fix it with just a little expense.

There, the customer service person was courteous and helpful. He
looked at the problem and provided me with a part that he felt would
fix the problem. He even attached it. I thought I was home free, and
I am sure he did as well.

Unfortunately, as I returned to my journey to try to reach my
appointment on time, I happened to look in my rearview mirror. It was
then that a sinking feeling fell over me as I realized that line of
liquid behind me on the highway was not in front of me. I was rapidly
losing anti-freeze, and the problem was not solved. So, I immediately
began looking for my next course of action. Turning down another
street knowing that very little was ahead on my route, I found a
muffler shop which specializes in brakes and mufflers.

I went in, told them the problem and asked if they had time to help.
The mechanic said they would be happy to check out the problem if I
did not mind waiting. I asked if there would be any charge and he
said “no.”

At this point, I was too late to make my appointment, so I called to
reschedule. I waited while they gave it the once over. Upon their
return they gave me the bad news that it was not just a hose or
something simple, and it would require half a day to fix it.

Since they did not have time at that late hour in the day, I had to
get on my way, and they insisted no charge and assured me that if I
wanted them to do the needed work, they would work it in early the
next week.

While I chose not to return due to the distance of this particular
garage from my home, I feel all of these folks went out of their way
to help me that day. I can only figure they must do similarly for all
their customers. They should all be commended.

Even though you can no longer go down to the filling station and get
a bottle of pop while Goober or Wally works on your car and Gomer
checks the oil, air and fills up your gas, there are still folks out
there that take the time to make you feel like you almost could.

I hope you also find people like these along your way.

What’s happening to men and women?

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Though I don’t consider myself a product of a different age, I look around and see how men and women, boys and girls, publicly act, dress, behave, treat each other, speak, and I ponder what happened.
My parents raised me with certain expectations of behavior especially in the presence of the opposite sex or anyone who is your senior. Respect was key. Now that does not mean you allow yourself to be maligned or used as a doormat, but you show respect in how you respond.
When you went to work, unless you were a tradesman or women, you dressed, as a man, suit and tie, unless the employer called for something more specific. For church, you wear your best as a form of respect in worship, whatever that was.
There were certain things you were expected to do, as a child or youth, you yielded to the discipline of the supervising adults, and you were on your very best behavior when in public or around strangers, or older family members or neighbors, always showing respect.
As a child, some of what I was taught that an adult male should do is:
not use a person’s first name unless given permission; not cuss; acknowledge people as you meet them at work or on the street allowing ladies to acknowledge you first, this can be done with a nod of the head since most folks do not wear hats for tipping anymore; remove your hat when entering a building and especially in the atmosphere of casual headwear, and never wear a hat at a table.
When it comes with interacting with ladies, a man should:
rise when a lady enters the room or stands in public or private social gatherings; open doors; offer an arm to a lady you know when entering or leaving a building or room or if the ground appears uneven; walk on the sidewalk with a lady away from traffic; give ladies your seat when none is available; assist with her chair at the table or help putting on a coat; and avoid impolite subjects.
Of course, the changes in the workplace and the social environment over the past few decades have changed what is being taught our youth and done by adults, and to conform in some situations, I have had to forego some of these teachings, so not to make other men uncomfortable in their lack of etiquette.
Still, I am blessed when in environs and among others in which these expected behaviors once again are shown and I readily fall back into these naturally.
With the outrage in the current status of the male-female relationships in the workplace and elsewhere, perhaps we need to return to the tried and true expectations of public interaction from several decades ago, so that opportunities for such behavior are eliminated.
Of course, many will scream that that is not the solution, that men and women should be treated the same way in all environments. Well, as the son of an early advocate of the Equal Rights Amendment, I can say from her teachings there is a balance that can be found. My mother taught me all that I shared while standing up for women’s rights.  From her prospective as a business owner starting in the 1950s, respect was the key, having equal opportunities and equal pay did not mean women had to give up being a lady in whatever environment they chose to place themselves, in the board room, elected office or in the home.

A voice that soared above the pines – Curly Seckler

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Randall Franks and Curly Seckler in 1980s.

Curly Seckler

My New Year’s Eve show got me home about 3:30 a.m., and I quickly tried to get to sleep with a plan to rise early and head to Nashville. I awoke on time and aimed my burgundy Chevy Lumina towards the goal a little over two hours away. The trip had been made hundreds of times in my life, especially as my country music career was in full swing there.
I thought back to early trips which found me knocking on the door of a home off Dickerson Road when legendary bluegrass musician and singer Curly Seckler came to the door. I chose to emulate him as a child. He had done this many times and often told others especially as my star in music and TV rose of my initial youthful visit.
His door was always open to me, and he was always generous with his time, whether in person, on the phone or on the road. This trip was however not to knock on his door but to pay my respects to his family and join with his other friends and admirers as we said goodbye to the 98-year-old.
Seckler’s long career combined his talents with the majority of the genre’s first-generation legends from Charlie Monroe to “Doc” Tommy Scott, Jim and Jesse McReynolds to the Stanley Brothers.
He was most recognized by historians and fans though by his role as the tenor singer and mandolinist to Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs as part of the Foggy Mountain Boys. One of the key artists which infused bluegrass into the fabric of American culture through television, recordings and radio. It was those recordings that also drew me as a young boy, and his tenor that I tried to match as I sang.
As I walked towards the door of the Spring Hill Funeral Home the bitter cold chilled my cheeks. I followed in some of the musicians that were to be singing who made their way to the coffin storage room to practice. I said hello to one of their wives who was waiting and soon found his biographer Penny Parsons, who wrote “Foggy Mountain Troubadour” opening up the viewing room. I was the first to arrive, so after a brief visit with Penny, I was able to spend some time with my long-time friend, just he and I as all the memories flooded back. I reminisced aloud looking upon the voice “who soared above the pines.” I talked about the visits to his home, the first time I looked up at him and his Nashville Grass on stage after the death of Lester Flatt, and was mesmerized by his poise and style on stage, to later in my life when my country music fan club was hosting a Country Music Fan Fair party and in he and his future wife Eloise Warren walked in to support me as just another two of my fans. Soon I found tears rolling down my cheeks and I sucked up the emotions drying my tears. I stepped back in the hall as family members began arriving slowly, the other notable musicians, industry elites, and Foggy Mountain Boy offspring filed in and visited with the family.
As I stood talking to his son Ray at the foot of his coffin, I looked to my left and in came the musicians who had be practicing, the Grammy winning Earls of Leicester (Jerry Douglas, Shawn Camp, Charlie Cushman, Jeff White, and Johnny Warren), who continued the Flatt & Scruggs tradition. Each, all old friends, stopped and shook hands and moved closer to the coffin. In a few moments, I looked up to my left and there stood Vince Gill paying his respects to one of his heroes. We shared some Curly memories, until Sharon Skaggs came in and hugged my neck and Ricky reached over and shook my hand as he got in the viewing line.
Shortly, we all settled into the Chapel as the “Foggy Mountain Special” played and WSM Announcer Eddie Stubbs led the service sharing the pulpit with Brother Terry Clapp and Gerald McCormick.
Moving performances were shared by Ricky Skaggs and the Whites of “Gone Home,” Connie Smith with “Gathering Flowers for the Master’s Bouquet,” and the Earls of Leicester on “Who Will Sing for Me” and we watched and heard memorable TV performances by Curly with Flatt & Scruggs  “I Want to Be Loved” and “Precious Memories” and his mandolin player with the Nashville Grass – Marty Stuart and the Fabulous Superlatives with “Lord, I’m Coming Home.”
We laughed, we cried, we applauded and we paid tribute to someone we all loved as both a good man who gave his hope, his encouragement and his faith freely to all of us; and to the last link to the golden era of the Flatt and Scruggs musical legacy that will stand the test of time and outlast all of us. As we gathered in the single digit wind chill around his graveside, the Earls of Leicester delivered a song Curly loved singing – “Reunion in Heaven.” Though we were freezing, we all seemed to linger there after being dismissed holding on to the significance of the moment, shaking hands, slowly passing by his wooden coffin awaiting the day of that reunion.  Learn more at www.curlyseckler.net.

 

 

 

Refilling the well with love

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Over the past few weeks, I have said goodbye to many friends and family, and I share this story in honor of each of them and those who gave tirelessly to care for each of them as they prepared for their final steps. Perhaps it will give us all something to carry throughout the coming year – to always remember that we are here to love one another.

As Pearl looked into the eyes of her father, Grandpa Bill looked back with a stare that was almost empty.

There was nothing more scary, more disheartening than looking into those deep blue eyes that had given so much throughout life, such caring, such love and on occasion a stern glance that made you know you were on very thin ice.

But now as he looked upon you there were moments that he did not know who you were.

Pearl longed for a chance once again to hear his gentle voice speak her name for no other reason except to be sure that he knew her.

Fear overcame her worrying that such a moment might not come again or perhaps his thoughts might land in a place of anger and frustration making him want to strike out at her and those who love him so much.

The family had seen the cycle again and again as the older generation slowly yielded its control to the next, albeit sometimes kicking and screaming along the way.

But that is only appropriate not to go quietly into that good night.

In the valley below the Gravelly Spur Mountain there is no such thing as a nursing home or assisted living. You found your assistance at home among your family and friends.

No matter your age or disability there was always some series of chores you could perform to keep a daily routine until you body rebelled and no longer allowed you to do them.

Then if your hands remained active, a chore that required only slight movement might be shared, peeling potatoes, breaking green beans, sewing on buttons.

But Grandpa Bill had reached the point that those days were behind him and he was giving comfort only in the brief moments of clarity as they came and went within him.

Pearl wondered what she might do to make the situation better, alas there was little she could do except be there leaning back in the woven seat oak chair holding his hand as it lay upon the blue and white cotton patchwork quilt. She tried to make each day as close to what he wanted as possible.

There was no doubt of the love shared between the father and daughter and yet that did not ease the fearful moments when the ravages of time seemed to wipe it clean like the swipe of an eraser across a school blackboard removing the chalk so no one could see it.

But she found her solace waiting for that next moment when the writing once again appeared on Grandpa Bill’s class slate perhaps not in all its detail but enough to hold on to. Enough to sustain until there was no more.

It makes one wonder where love goes when the board is wiped clean.

Perhaps that is the purpose of family caring for family. The well of love pours out throughout the lives of those contributing filling the hearts of those around them. When the well begins to dry up does that mean that the love is gone? Of course not, the love still remains within all those who have shared in it throughout that person’s life.

As the level of one’s well begins to diminish it is simply the job of all of those who have drank from that well to now bring some of that love back to that person.

Just because they may not be able to drink it in fully does not make the gift any less valued.

From the book “A Mountain Pearl: Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes“

New Year’s Fixin’s

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It was a blustery cold morning as Kitty and Pearl began their walk over to Maudie Pearson’s house. They carried tins full of green collards, black-eyed peasand hamhocks and some cornbread.
“This seems like an odd meal to take Miss Maudie,” Pearl said.
“It’s News Year’s Day fixin’s,” Kitty said.
“If she eats these she will have all the luck and money she needs in the next year,” Kitty said.
As they walked across the field to the tenant shack where eighty year-old Maudie lived, their steps barely marked the frozen ground which months before would have allowed them to sink a foot deep with each step.
Kitty’s walk was long and gated since she carried the extra weight of another family member inside her.
“Momma, when will the new baby come,” Pearl asked.
“When its ready,” she said. “I feel it should come any day now.”
Maudie welcomed them at the door and asked them to sit a spell.
“You folks sure surprised me coming on such a cold day,” Maudie said.
“I knew you wouldn’t feel up to cookin’ much, so we wanted to bring you blessings for the New Year,” Kitty said.
“And it looks like you will have a new blessing soon,” Maudie said as she placed her hand on Kitty’s belly.
The threesome sat near the warm fire and shared some hot cider as Maudie showed off a quilt top she was working diligently to finish.
Kitty said they best be getting back.
“The men folk will be home from hunting soon, and they might think we run off,” she said.
Kitty and Pearl took small steps on the way back. Kitty’s pace became slower and slower as she fell on her knees to the ground.
The pain doubled her over.
“Momma,” Pearl called to her, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s time,” Kitty exclaimed.
“What do I do?” Pearl asked.
“Help me and let’s get back to Maudie’s,” she said.
Pearl helped her up, and the duo made their way back to the tenant house.
Maudie said, “Land sakes I knew it would not be long.”
She helped her into the bed and told Pearl to fetch some water from the well and put it in the fire to boil.
Pearl did, and then she placed a damp cloth on Kitty’s head to ease the sweat rolling from her brow. Every few moments intense pain brought Kitty’s shrill scream of agony.
“What can we do?” Pearl said.
“We are doing all we can; the rest is up to God and the little one,” Maudie said.
After a while the screaming stopped, the pain subsided, and in Maudie’s arms was a brand new baby boy.
“Well it looks like the blessings of the New Year have arrived,” Maudie said.
Maudie reached over, picked up the new quilt she was making and wrapped the boy inside, laying him beside Kitty.
“He’ll get it a little early,” she said. “I was hoping to finish it before he came. I’ll do the rest a little later. He needs it more now.”
As the little baby looked up at Maudie and smiled, a shared grin was passed to Kitty and Pearl.
Kitty looked at Pearl and said, “Sharing blessings goes a long ways, little one. Just look what a few greens, peas and cornbread gave to us today.

From the book “A Mountain Pearl: Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes”

The Christmas shine is for sharing

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“Here’s the boxes of outside lights,” I said as I handed them down the attic stairs to my father Floyd.
Next came the interior boxes that were spread on the floor of the living room for my mother Pearl to sift through. A few hops up and down the attic ladder and all the Christmas decorations were strewn on the living room floor.
The holly climbed the wall by our front door, the bushes were full and green in front of the red-brick ranch-style house and the greenery made a perfect location to hold up numerous strings of Christmas lights.
As we moved beyond Thanksgiving, it fell on my father and I to bring my childhood home’s exterior into the Christmas spirit.
“Dad, have you seen the extra light bulbs, we got several out in this string,” I said as I raised my head seeing him standing on a ladder placing a power cord.
The lights were long strings some with full-sized colored bulbs, some with smaller ones. Of course, the first task was making sure all the bulbs worked before placing them. This was my job as my dad ran the electrical cords providing the power.
“There still in the boxes,” he said, so I was up and sticking my hands down through a spider web of wires searching for the box of bulbs.
After getting all the lights in place the final act of exterior decorations was the placement of a large lighted Santa Claus face was hung in the holly by our front door.
By the time this was done we moved inside to set up the faux fireplace, where our stockings were hung and assisted mother with the placement of various items around the house including lighted candles for all the windows and in then we would assemble our artificial tree and add the decorations and lights.
We always worked together to make the tree look just right. We didn’t always have an artificial tree, that came when my health was so weak that live trees caused breathing issues.
We built some wonderful memories preparing for the Christmas season as friends and family flowed in and out of our brightly decorated home.  It was the backdrop of so much joy and laughter, tears of sorrow, and lessons learned.
I watched as both my mother and father welcomed others into our home who had no one to share the holidays with. I participated as my father refurbished bicycles and peddle cars for needy children, and as my mother collected and boxed foods for needy families. Christmas is always brighter with the shiny decorations that we wrap our live within. Let’s not forget that the greatest gift of Christmas was the baby Jesus that charged each of us with loving our neighbor as ourselves. Share the shine that God gave you in your life by loving your neighbors.

A mouse in the house

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In the valley below the Gravelly Spur sometimes life was lost in the living, but at times circumstances would change that for a while.
Billy Thurston lived in a sharecropper’s house with his mother Alma and father Fred. Although Billy was just eight-years-old, he already had performed almost every task it took to help run the farm and help his parents scrape a meager living on shares.
He plowed and planted, tended to animals, and walked a few paces behind his father as they hunted to add a bit of meat to the table.
Each fall when it came time to cut the corn and tie the stalks together, in the mist the stands of corn stalks looked as if an army had left the field and propped its rifles there.
At this time of year an army of mice which made the field a home would tend to run for the cover of whatever building they could find.
This year Billy’s father told him it would be his job to place the mouse traps around the house and keep them clean of whatever they might catch.
Being mindful of his father, he went about his chore and kept each trap ready and waiting for the next offensive.
One afternoon one of the traps did not hold a dead mouse but one whose leg was caught and broken.
Billy did not have the heart to end the little one’s life. So, he cut some small branches and took a few threads from the ragged area of his overalls and tied upon the mouse’s leg a splint.
Billy carefully carried the gray field mouse to the edge of the cornfield which lay between their house and my Grandma Kitty’s and released it.
After a couple of days, my Grandma Kitty was sweeping off the front porch. As she turned and opened the screen door, in scurried a little mouse which she promptly followed with broom in hand. After quite a chase around the old butcher block table, she finally had the little critter cornered.
As she was about to bring the broom down with all her might, she saw the splint upon its leg. The sight of that little splint reminded her that every life has value no matter in what form it is carried. She could not bring herself to end this one.
She reached down, picked the animal up and carried it to the edge of the corn field to release it.
Twice the little mouse got a reprieve. The yellow barn cat Grover was not so kind-hearted.

From Randall Franks’s book “A Mountain Pearl : Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes”

For truth, justice and the American way

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Never rely upon what “other people” say when you develop an opinion.

I have spent my life walking in the light of truth. I was taught early to follow the rules and speak the truth. As a small child, I was a whiz at numbers but had some difficulty with spelling, at least that is the way I felt at the time. In an early experience that I shared with my first-grade teacher, I was caught using a small note placed under my leg with my spelling words upon it while taking a test – cheating plain and simple.

Being caught I was sent out to stand in the hallway and then received a dressing down by my teacher which then resulted in my mother being called in and later my dad being brought in the loop for the final punishment at home.

Needless to say, I didn’t have the opportunity to hide a crib note under my leg when taking a spelling test again, I couldn’t sit comfortably for a while to take a test. But the experience re-enforced some of the lessons I had been taught – don’t cheat and don’t lie. A simple lesson learned is it’s much easier to tell the truth, you don’t have to remember and keep up with the lies.

Later in my life, as my career moved to journalism, spending a life in truth, being dependable and making sure no stone was unturned, allowed me to tell the stories of many folks who would not talk to other journalists, because they knew I would be fair and honestly share their story. That approach helped me earn over 20 state and national awards for the work. I fondly remember a boy who use to call me “Superman” because he thought of me like Clark Kent, saving the world.

As a journalist developing a story, I focused on getting three different sources who could confirm facts about a situation that may need to be brought to light in an article.

In recent weeks, I have experienced a lesson in the current human condition. There are folks in the world today that do not care about integrity of the information that they believe. They take the words at face value, placing no question on the source and the ultimate motives for what is being said. They do not look deeper to see if what is being said is even valid.

Some then use those words to formulate decisions that impact the lives of numerous people, to slander others with no foundation by repeating what has been said. That is now an easy adventure in our world which rotates around various social media platforms.

There is no accountability for those that do it. There is no way to fix the damage done by these people that propagate falsehoods and what is the sad commentary is some of them that choose this path are successful in hurting others and benefit from their efforts whether the ultimate gain is financial or gains in power within some position.

I have always believed that good wins over evil and still do. I read the back of the Book and that is how the story ultimately ends, but these little battles along the way that seems to allow evil people with evil intentions to succeed does dishearten. The only way to overcome it is if we all don’t believe blindly… do a little research and find three reputable sources when making decisions and conclusions that impact all of us. I pray for our people that we all do a better job of reaching for truth, justice and the American way.

Country memories with Margie Singleton and Mel Tillis

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I have been blessed to meet some amazing performers who have for some period occupied the spotlight in many music genres but especially those who made a home in country music.

Through the 1950s and 60s, one of the female vocalists who kept the airwaves filled with her talents from Starday, Mercury, United Artists, Monument, and Ashley Records, whether as a feature artist, duet partner, songwriter or background vocalist is Margie Singleton.

Singleton, now in her 80s continues entertaining audiences, sharing interviews, videos, and blessing hearts and ears with her latest Christian music CD “On the Other Side of Life.”

Among her early hits are titles such as “Eyes of Love,” and with duet partner George Jones “Did I Ever Tell You,” and “Waltz of the Angels” and with Faron Young “Keeping Up with the Joneses.” She did a full album of duets with Jones which is now a legendary part of both their legacies.

Numerous artists yielded songs from her pen with just a few being Tammy Wynette, Charley Pride, and Brook Benton. She even joined the Jordanaires adding the feminine touch to countless classic country recordings of the era beside the famed back-up harmony group.

Her most recent Christian music CD features “On the Other Side of Life,” “I Chose You,” “Peculiar People,” “Follow Me,” “I Heard Him Knockin’,” “Making Payments,” “On My Father’s Side,” “His Destiny,” “Meet Me at the Altar,” “Flying with My Lord,” “You Can’t Go Back,” and “Heaven Bound.”

Her voice and musical stylings reflect the amazing sounds that made her a radio favorite. Check out her CD and she recently did a video of the single “Jesus Is My Pusher” which is seen at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeJgy2rJnFI&t=13s.

Learn more about Margie at http://margiesingletonmusic.com/ and order her CD at http://store.cdbaby.com/cd/margiesingleton. Like her at http://www.facebook.com/margiesingleton35/

The “Coca-Cola Cowboy” Mel Tillis, 85, passed away Nov. 19. As I was coming up as a country artist, he was one of the kings of country songwriting, singing, performing comedy and acting in movies. He created a home for his classic country style by building a theater in Branson, a town where he and Roy Clark reigned for many years.

Throughout his 60+ year career, the Grand Ole Opry member recorded more than 60 albums, had 35 Top Ten singles, six #1 hits (“I Ain’t Never,” “Coca-Cola Cowboy,” “Southern Rains,” “Good Woman Blues,” “Heart Healer,” and “I Believe in You”), was named the Country Music Association’s coveted Entertainer of the Year, and was elected a member of the Country Music Hall of Fame. He wrote over 1,000 songs, 600 of which have been recorded by major artists including Kenny Rogers (“Ruby, Don’t You Take Your Love to Town”), George Strait (“Thoughts of A Fool”), and Ricky Skaggs (“Honey, Open That Door”). Broadcast Music Inc. (BMI) named Tillis Songwriter of the Decade for two decades. In February of 2012 President Obama awarded Tillis the National Medal of Arts.

For years my office base of operations in Nashville was in Mel’s building on Music Row. It was where meetings occurred, quick changes as I rushed into town for an appearance. I often found Mel there and shared a brief visit for a few words of encouragement or wisdom. He was an amazing talent that made us think, laugh and remember that we artists were there to entertain the audience…a true class act… Prayers for his daughter Pam Tillis and all his children, grandchildren and family.

The bottom of the pile

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

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

In my neighborhood, we had a great group of children. We all would gather to play and race our bikes down suicide hill.

I remember one accident that 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.

There were no cell phones — so the kids were kept on what I call time leashes. When we left the house, we were expected to come back by a certain time, usually meal time.

Of course, if any of us got into mischief, the news traveled faster than us and the punishment was waiting for us when we got home. In my case, a few choice words from Mom followed by “You just wait ‘til your father gets home.”

Those waits coupled with the sound of my dad pulling his belt out of his pants were always worse than the whipping themselves.

One thing about it, my father never punished me undeservingly, and while I can’t remember a single whipping, I sure learned the life lessons that accompanied them.

My friends and I had about a two to three-mile radius in which we played that encompassed, fields, woods, several neighborhoods and some stores. We had a Colonial Grocery Store, a Krystal, a gas station, dry cleaners and a Gulf Service Station within our travel patterns.

We would get in our share of disagreements with each other. That would lead usually to some hurt feelings and some rolling around on the ground ‘til 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. But when they jump on you, there are just a few hurdles you have to get over before you can walk away.

I learned a valuable lesson from Chris that day. I have always tried to stick up for others, but sadly, especially since starting to serve in local politics, I have found there are few willing to stick up for you as the bullies come out to tear you down, especially during an election.

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. Even during an election, it is better to walk away and not engage in the lowering of the standards of decency often practiced by other candidates and their backers.

We are truly blessed with people who work every day to help those who face many kinds of battles.