If you were born in 1967 or
before, where were you on your 50th birthday? I know where I was on mine, Dec. 3, 1998. Gov. Zell Miller and I were sitting toe to
toe in a state airplane, about 15,000 feet high in the clouds. Across the aisle was Rebecca Paul, the
Georgia Lottery Corporation’s top executive.
We were Albany-bound on an economic-development mission.
The
pointed toes of Gov. Miller’s cowboy boots were touching the tips of my black
tassel loafers when I leaned forward to ask, “Who’s your favorite country
singer?” Without hesitation, the father of our state’s education-enriching
lottery fired back, “George Jones!” I knew the governor had two special
affinities outside of politics: country music and baseball. The mountain man from Young Harris is an
encyclopedia on both subjects.
The
governor was a personal friend of Jones, aka The Possum. I’m a fan of both men. One of my favorite George Jones tunes is
“Choices.” He wails about living and
dying by the choices we make. That could
very well be the theme song of Wayne County’s plight in the Broadhurst
Environmental Landfill saga.
Our
county commissioners made a choice a quarter-century ago to allow a privately owned
regional landfill in our community. Unfortunately,
the downside consequences of that choice were overlooked. By
now, we all know the fallout of the 2005 choice of the commissioners to
handcuff us into a 50-year contract with Republic. However, a growing number of people believe
those “handcuffs” should be challenged, especially after Central Virginia
Properties LLC’s stealth rail-spur application in January 2016. And that choice has kept us entangled in a
modern-day David-and-Goliath battle ever since.
Now,
let’s go back to Gov. Miller. Four summers ago, Larry Walker and I nicknamed our
road trip “The Legends Tour.” We stopped
in Calhoun first to visit our friend Bert Lance, just before the
banker-turned-political operative died.
From there, we darted deeper into Northwest Georgia to see one of
America’s most feared and revered attorneys—Bobby Lee Cook. In his signature seersucker suit, he regaled
us with stories, and we left convinced our friend was the inspiration of TV’s
Matlock.
From
Summerville, we drove to Young Harris to spend the morning with Zell and
Shirley Miller. Inside that quaint stone
home are two remarkable Georgia leaders.
Until the bulk of his baseball memorabilia moved across the road to the
Zell and Shirley Miller Library at Young Harris College, the Miller home was
also a baseball museum. It’s still a
library. Thousands of books adorn the
walls.
As
the former governor and United States senator walked us from room to room, he
paused and laughed. He was pointing to a
framed note his buddy, Mickey Mantle, had scrawled on a banquet napkin. The last line of the former New York Yankee
legend read, “Yog and Zell remind me of
each other, not as dumb as they seem.”
That brings
me to Yogi Berra, who also wore Yankee pinstripes. Besides being a Hall of Fame catcher and
major-league coach, Yogi’s was good for quips such as “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”
George Jones could have used that line in one of his songs.
In the coming
weeks, as we search for common ground in this Republic-vs.-the-people-of-Wayne-County
debacle, I think we can look to both The Possum and Yogi for guidance. Whatever “choices” we make, we’ll be “living
and dying” by them. There’s a river of
legalese and emotions to wade through.
Republic is
insistent.
We should be,
too.
Before this is
resolved with the ultimate choices, there must be healthy rounds of
discussion. And where should the
citizens of Wayne County be? Right in the
middle, making their voices heard.
Republic
is a multibillion-dollar corporation, a Goliath compared to our meager
David-like resources. Still, Yogi is
right: “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
