Elliott Brack’s purple pen inspired journalists to excel

  

            An old feed and seed store is why you are reading this.

            How’s that?

            Go back with me to 1962. What was once Strickland Feed & Seed was then the office of the Wayne County Press, an upstart weekly, a stone’s throw from the railroad tracks that split my hometown. That’s where I met Elliott Earl Brack.

We didn’t know each other, and that’s the rest of the story.

            As a member of the student council, I was on a mission to publish a telephone directory for the students of Jesup High School. The newspaper also had a print shop. Editor Brack introduced me to ink and paper. And as a bonus, he gave me a short course in advertising sales. We sold enough ads to pay the bill and bank a sizable profit.

            Four years later, I reconnected with Elliott. When I ran for UGA’s student senate, he printed my campaign materials. And a highlight of each week was receiving the Wayne County Press (WCP). It was just like a letter from home. He dubbed the WCP as “The People Paper.”

Elliott ran the newspaper as if his pants were on fire. He had the backbone and the guts to take on whatever needed taking on. He signed his editorials—EEB. He kept the community buzzing. Reading the letters to the editor was a must.

Fast-forward to 1971.

After graduating from Georgia in 1970, I completed my basic and advanced training for the Army National Guard. Pam had earned her degree, too. I was contemplating law school.

And then there was that phone conversation with EEB.

“We’ve got too many lawyers in Jesup already,” he said. “You’ve got a journalism degree. Why don’t you come home? We are trying to buy the Jesup Sentinel. You can be a partner with Dr. Lanier Harrell and me. I can run one of the newspapers. You can run the other.”

The story is much more complicated, but that’s the gist of it. Nonetheless, I was hooked. Within two weeks, Pam and I were in Jesup. She was preparing to teach first grade at my alma mater Orange Street Elementary. And I was enrolled in EEB’s community-journalism crash course. If he had known how little I knew, he wouldn’t have made the offer. It’s a good thing the purchase of the Jesup Sentinel stalled for five years.

In 1973 I was tossed into the deep end. Elliott and his family moved to Athens for what was to be a year. He was asked to be a visiting professor at UGA’s Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communication. And then I got a call from EEB.

“Beside being a college professor,” he said, “I’ve always wanted to run a daily newspaper.” Bob Fowler had recruited him to be the vice-president and general manager of the Gwinnett Daily News in Georgia’s fastest-growing county. On Dec. 27, 1976, EEB and Doc cashed out. I stayed in, and The Press-Sentinel was born.

And for the 50 years since—even though he hasn’t been my boss or my partner—EEB “graded” my papers with a purple Flair pen. I relished every mark and comment because I respected his wisdom and opinion. I could wallpaper my office with his colorful comments.

When I got a message to call EEB’s son, Andy, I had an inkling of what I was about to hear. Elliott Earl Brack, 90, had died. Just hours earlier, I had read one of my mentor’s 10,000-plus columns. He was a thought-provoking journalist until the very end.

EEB’s passion for journalism was infectious. His son, Andy, is a newspaper publisher. My sons, Alan and Eric, have ink in their veins, too, as successful publishers. We all benefited from EEB’s tutelage. His purple messages will be indelible influences for the rest of our lives.

It all goes back to 1962 and that visit to the old feed and seed store. A pants-on-fire newspaperman planted a “seed” of possibility in my 23-year-old brain. And that’s why you are reading this. I can’t imagine having done anything else for the past 55 years.

But if EEB could read this, he’d scribble, in purple ink, “You wrote too long.”

 

 

 

 

 

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com 

UGA’s Grady College introduced me to Tom Johnson

  

            Tom Johnson and I met, circa 1980, while serving on the advisory board of UGA’s Henry W. Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communication. He was publisher of the Los Angeles Times, and I was publisher of The Press-Sentinel and several South Georgia newspapers. We also share a connection by serving on the Richard B. Russell Foundation. Tom’s friendship and advice over the decades have been priceless.

            This past winter, Tom was in Athens to talk about his new book, DRIVEN: A Life in Public Service and Journalism from LBJ to CNN. My friend autographed a stack of DRIVEN for me to give to family and friends. If you haven’t read the splendid, history-packed book, I recommend it to you.

In 1990 Ted Turner recruited Tom to serve as president of CNN. Tom’s tenure at the revolutionary 24-hour news service started with a bang—the Gulf War. We are publishing Tom’s reflections about his most-famous former boss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com 

 

 

 

My years with Ted Turner

 by Tom Johnson 

   

            Yes, he could be outrageous.

            When a little girl fell into a well in Texas and the rescue of “Baby Jessica” unfolded live on TV, CNN’s ratings skyrocketed. Ted joked maybe CNN should place candy bars around other wells.

            Yet, you could also find him in war-torn regions poking sticks in the ground searching for land mines that children were stepping on, blowing themselves up.

            He was complicated.

Until I met Ted, I thought Lyndon Johnson was the most complex person I had ever known. Before I accepted the job as CNN’s president, I told him, “Ted, before you hire me, you need to know that I battle depression.”

            He shot back, “Hell, pal, let me tell you about me.” That’s all he said. It was classic Ted: disarming, revealing and removed, all at once.

            He was impatient with a restless energy that could make him difficult. If you were late for a meeting with him, it was almost a death sentence. I think the reason he hated delay was that he couldn’t wait to get to the future.

            Above all, Ted Turner was a visionary.

When he founded CNN as a 24-hour news channel, the other networks provided only morning and evening news shows. They would break into regular programming only for major events.

Ted saw the need for an around-the-clock news network. He envisioned CNN as a truly global channel that would provide honest, reliable, unbiased information to people around the world, especially in countries where independent news was suppressed.

            When I was considering accepting the job, I asked Ted what he would expect of the next president of CNN. He said, “I want us to make CNN the absolute best news network on the planet.”

When I asked him, “What are your policies about news?” he said, “Be fair.”

He wanted reporters to report, anchors to anchor and neither to editorialize. He wanted news to be the star, not the personalities.

            My first day at CNN was Aug. 1, 1990. The following day, Iraq’s Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. I told Ted that if we were to be the premier news source for a possible war between the U.S. and Iraq, it could cost as much as $30 million over budget. His answer startled me: “You spend whatever you think it takes, pal.”

            With Ted’s total support, we established a special communications link, so that when all other networks lost their transmission capabilities from Baghdad, all eyes turned to CNN.

            Over the 11 years I was with Ted, we covered so many other stories—the fall of the Soviet Union, the O.J. Simpson trial, the Balkan wars, the impeachment of Bill Clinton, the Waco siege, the death of Princess Diana.

            What would those years have been like without CNN?

Ted told me that the most important thing he did in life was raising his five children. A close second was creating CNN.

            He was a man of many accomplishments. He won the America’s Cup, the renowned sailing race. He bought the Atlanta Braves and transformed them from one of baseball’s worst teams into one of its best.

You could call those rich man’s toys, but Ted cared far more deeply about the planet. In 1998 he donated $1 billion and created the United Nations Foundation to fund humanitarian causes such as helping refugees, fighting disease and clearing land mines.

He worked with former Sen. Sam Nunn to reduce the dangers of nuclear weapons with the Nuclear Threat Initiative.

He was a passionate steward of the land. Over the years, he acquired and worked to restore 2 million acres, cleaning the streams, removing the cattle, and reintroducing bison, gray wolves, and native plants and grasses. His bison herd now numbers over 45,000 head. On those lands, you can see what the Native Americans saw when they roamed there.

No mention of Ted’s life can ignore the love he had for Jane Fonda. They were remarkable together, sharing both passion and purpose in the common cause for peace.

Ted was dashing and charismatic with the neatly trimmed mustache of a Hollywood leading man of yesterday. He was a swashbuckler whose bravado exuded the promise of daring, romantic adventures.

Ted was a maverick like no one I have ever known.

We will miss you, pal. 

 

Tom Johnson, right, signs copies of his book for Dink 

NeSmith, left, in Athens, Georgia, last winter.

 

Bonus comes with the ‘free-couch switcheroo’

  

          Call it the Laugh-of-the-Month, the “free-couch switcheroo.”

          What?

          The best way to explain the switcheroo is to start at the beginning.

Our oldest grandson has a math diploma. Now, Wyatt is pursuing a UGA environmental engineering degree. The 22-year-old lives in an apartment in one of our barns. He brought his dorm-room recliner from Young Harris. But he’d like a couch, too. His budget said, “No.”

Besides, Wyatt’s SUV needed a set of tires.

Still, his mind hadn’t turned loose of the couch thing.

One day, I heard Wyatt’s new tires crunching gravel outside my office. Stepping inside, he announced, “Grandpa, there a couch in someone’s front yard. It has a ‘FREE’ sign on it.”

“Yeah, I saw that, too.”

“It’s leather. I think I can clean it up.”

“Well?”

“Could I use the farm truck and go get it?”

“Sure, but wouldn’t loading it on a trailer be easier?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How about let’s go hitch the small trailer?”

Pretty soon, we were trucking to Colbert.

When we pulled onto the edge of the free-couch yard, the big brown sofa looked pretty good.  But when I got closer, I could tell why it was being offered for free. Most of the leather was in tolerable shape. Some spots weren’t.  And behind the cushions was evidence that a white dog had enjoyed the sectional-sitting apparatus, a bunch.

Wyatt was not demurred. 

After all, it was free. 

And he could clean it up.

Back at the farm, we toted the two sections and the stack of cushions into the barn and placed them outside his apartment.

“I’ll work on this after exams,” he said.

The next day, I walked across the road to check on the kitchen-remodeling project of our neighbors. My friend said, with a chuckle, “I saw you and Wyatt hauling that couch yesterday.”

One of the carpenters piped up, “Are you talking about that couch in Colbert?” 

“Yep, Wyatt wanted a couch.”

The carpenter had eyed it, too.

            The contractor spoke up, “If Wyatt needs a couch, I have one that I’ll give him. I’ll send you a picture tonight.”

            When the photo popped up on my phone, I showed it to Wyatt.

            “Grandpa, that looks pretty good.”

            “It’s being steam-cleaned. Free couch and free delivery.”

            That triggered the country-roadside-couch switcheroo.

            “Grandpa, think you could help me load this leather couch?”

            “Sure thing, Wyatt. But you need to make a big ‘FREE’ sign first.”

            Fifteen minutes later, the two-piece couch was sitting beside the road with a cardboard sign duct-taped to the leather.

            “How long will it take, Wyatt, for the couch to get a new home?”

            “Grandpa, it won’t take long.”

            He’d witnessed our neighbors use the “FREE” strategy to dispose of truckloads of unwanted items. Everything from dishes to ceiling fans, even concrete blocks.

            Wyatt was right.

            Within hours, I caught a glimpse of a pickup—loaded with a brown leather couch—headed toward Colbert, or it could have been Comer.

            The other new-to-him free couch will be “switcheroo-ed” any day now.

            With a grin, Wyatt said, “‘Free’ works, Grandpa.”

            And with the switcheroo, we got a bonus.

“Free” laughable memories.

 

 

 

 

 

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com 

‘Heaven on Earth’ becomes hellish nightmare

  

“Heaven on Earth.”

For each of us, those three words have a distinct definition. For me, it starts with love of family, friends and community. Going deeper, the meaning involves an assured salvation, a healthy rural lifestyle, congenial neighbors and ample opportunities to soak up God’s gifts of nature. And toss in plenty of laughter, especially from grandkids.

Yeah, I could make my list longer.

But you get the idea.

America and the world are in turmoil. Sadness and angst are everywhere. Bombs are dropping. Would-be assassins are lurking. Tornadoes are ripping. Floods and wildfires are raging. This list could be longer, much longer, too.

When the wildfires were blazing on the West Coast, I shuddered. I couldn’t imagine such horror. Now, I can. Ravenous blazes are galloping through South Georgia, near my family’s roots.

I no longer wonder, “What if California-like wildfires happen here?” Thousands of Georgia families are watching their slices of “Heaven on Earth” turn into hellish nightmares.

Reports of heroics are everywhere. Professional firefighters, volunteers, and neighbors helping neighbors are pouring hope onto the fiery crisis. And vigilant prayers are lifting to petition God to release downpours of His water on the widespread flames.

Brantley County is one of the apocalyptic epicenters. For an eyewitness report, I reached out to Wayne Morgan. My friend lives in the Raybon community. We connected in 2012 through his magnificent outdoor photography. Several of his award-winning Brantley County photos have been displayed in the governor’s office. Wayne and I collaborated on one of his several coffee-table books. He has been giving me wildfire updates. I am sharing a few of Wayne’s photos.

On Monday night, April 27, Wayne told me, “We have lost over 150 dwellings. In my lifetime of 61 years, Brantley County has never seen so much devastation and dealt with so much heartbreak.

“So many counties from all over Georgia have come to our aid with food, water, clothes and other supplies. Gov. Kemp said this is the most loss of homes in Georgia at one time in the state’s history.”

Wayne had high praise for the firefighters, many of whom are volunteers.

         All that I can add are these words:

         “Lord, we pray for rain and an end to these horrific wildfires. We also pray for strength and resiliency of the survivors. We ask for the safety of those enduring and battling this hellish nightmare. In your Son’s holy name, we pray. Amen.”

This award-winning Wayne Morgan photo of the Satilla River was displayed in the governor’s office for a full year in 2017.

 

 

This house on Browntown Road is one of the more than 150 structures and dwellings lost in the massive Brantley County wildfire. As we go to press, firefighters are still battling the fire

The Brantley County wildfire was believed to have been started near Wayne’s 

cousin Jesse’s business on Hwy. 82. The entire inventory of Morgan 

Automotive was destroyed.

 

 

Drought conditions and high winds created 

the “perfect storm” for the rampant wildfire.

 

 

 

 

 

  

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com

 

Calvin Hayes had distinctive ‘signatures’

  

            During my high school days, Calvin and Johnnie Hayes came into my life. They were a generation older, but we connected quickly. Over the 60-plus years of friendship, I visited their Harper Street home many times. About three years ago, Calvin called and said, “We need to talk.”

            Days later, I was sitting at their dining room table with Calvin. Johnnie sat nearby. Calvin’s purpose was twofold. He said, “I’d like to tell you my life’s story. And I want you to give my eulogy.”

            “For you, my friend,” I said, “I’d be honored.”

            That’s when Johnnie chirped, in her cheerful voice, “I want you to do mine, too.”

            In November of 2024, I stood in the pulpit of the First United Methodist Church, honoring Johnnie’s wish. Last Friday, I was back in that sanctuary. Calvin, 96, had gone to Heaven to reunite with his bride of 70 years and their daughter, Kathy, who had died as a 3-year-old.

            I am sharing with you an abbreviated portion of my eulogy for my friend, William Calvin Hayes.

            That night on Harper Street, Calvin told me that his two greatest decisions were:

1.    To accept life’s challenges by taking “the road less traveled.”

2.    To persuade Johnnie Eleanor Hodge to marry him on Nov. 22, 1953.

Calvin never complained about growing up “hard” in Odum during the Great Depression. Born as the third of five children, he dropped out of school after the sixth grade. His dad had died, and he had to shoulder the responsibilities of a man. In 1943, at age 14, he moved to Brunswick to work in the shipyard of J.A. Jones.

After World War II, Calvin returned to Jesup to work for E.T. Youngblood at the Alfred Dorman Company, a wholesale grocery distributor. Calvin had kept his payroll records. The most he ever made was 42 cents an hour. He credited E.T. Youngblood as one of his finest mentors. He had high praise for other mentors, including C.C. Harris, Buck Haskell, Earl Murphy, Dennis Synder and the Rev. Dr. Aubrey Alsobrook.

Calvin was a veteran of the U.S. Army and the Georgia National Guard. He showed me his honorable discharge dated Jan. 9, 1955. Calvin joined Rayoner in its early days. And all the while, he kept pushing down “that road.” He obtained his GED certificate, graduated from Brunswick Junior College and earned a bachelor’s degree in business by attending night school at Armstrong State College in Savannah.

In 1963, Calvin took a career detour to become Wayne County’s first administrator. After 42 months, he took the road back to Rayonier to become its senior purchasing agent. When he retired in 1993, Dennis Snyder, vice president of manufacturing, said, “When we needed to know something, we asked Calvin. He was the crown jewel of the company.”

This summer, we’ll celebrate America’s 250^th birthday. And I think about one of our Founding Fathers, John Hancock, and his iconic swirling signature.

During our decades of friendship, I never saw Calvin Hayes sign his name. But I can attest to distinctive signatures that defined his 96 years. Here are just four:

Dependable

You could depend on Calvin. He embraced doing his part and more. His longtime neighbor, Herschel Daniel, said, “Calvin was known as the go-to guy.” Dennis Snyder said as much.

Determined

No matter how challenging the road was, Calvin kept grinding toward his goals. He had a soft voice but strong convictions. His principled determination was just like an Altamaha River snapping turtle. He wasn’t going to turn loose until it thundered.

Devoted

Calvin was devoted to his family and friends. One example was his legendary devotion to his mother-in-law, Mattie Hodge, during her later years. If you were his friend, you could count on his loyalty. I always knew Calvin was devoted to my best interest.

Loving

When Johnnie died, she knew that Calvin—her No. 1 fan—loved her beyond measure. He was so proud of the beautiful woman whom he persuaded to marry him in 1953. And he loved daughter Debbie and granddaughters Lauren and Rachel beyond measure, too.

Calvin had more distinctive signatures, but I think you know how grateful I am that he and Johnnie were a part of my life. We can, indeed, celebrate that they are together, again.

People die twice.

First the heart stops.

The second time is when the stories stop.

As friends, our role is to never let that happen.

We must share our Calvin and Johnnie stories—over and over—for as long as we live.

Thank you, Debbie, for this honor.

Calvin and Johnnie.

I loved them, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com 

Coal is not ‘clean,’ nor is it ‘beautiful’

  

         Shhhhh.

         Listen.

Can you hear it?

Clink, clink, clink.

What’s that?

It’s cocktail glasses clinking in celebration.

Where?

In the ivory towers of America’s corporate polluters.

President Donald Trump and his minions at the Environment Protection Agency (EPA) are spewing “fake news.” Science clearly disputes the propaganda that coal is “clean” and “beautiful.”

But it is a fact that coal is a cheap source of energy, and it creates jobs. But coal is nasty. Coal pollutes the air, causing multiple health issues. That doesn’t include the thousands of coal miners who suffered and/or died from black-lung disease. And once burnt, the black lumps of fossil fuel leave toxic coal ash as industrial waste.

Coal is not clean or beautiful.

On Aug. 7, 2019, this cartoon illustrated a column that I wrote: “PSC and 

Georgia Power take a ‘giant leap’ for environment.” Since then, both parties 

have backtracked. Today, it’s “burn, baby, burn” for coal and pollution.

Nonetheless, corporate polluters are celebrating the EPA’s rollback on rules for burning coal and the handling of its poisonous coal ash. Chalk one up for the industrial lobbyists who persuaded the current administration to loosen the EPA’s grip on its original purpose.

That mission includes “to protect human health and the environment. It ensures Americans have clean air, land, and water, enforces environmental laws. … The agency works with partners to manage risks, improve environmental quality, and manage environmental stewardship.”

Do you think we should translate “partners” to polluters?

The news out of Washington is disappointing, but the announcement is no surprise. Interior Secretary Doug Burgum was quoted as saying that the administration’s goal for coal plants “is 100% stay open, no more retirements, no more shutting down.” Secretary Burgum is merely trumpeting what’s coming out of the Oval Office.

Allow me to digress, briefly.

Whether you agree or disagree with Robert F. Kennedy Jr., our health secretary has pledged to “Make America Healthy Again” (MAHA). Do you see the hypocrisy of two taxpayer-funded federal agencies tugging in opposite directions? One is trying to make us healthy, and the other determined to make us sick.

Now, back to those clinking cocktail glasses.

Few, if any, utilities have a more powerful army of state and federal lobbyists than Georgia Power and its parent, the Southern Company. They know how to leverage their dollars to get the best results. As Sherlock Holmes would say, “My dear Watson, they don’t call it Georgia Power for naught.”

Surely there are clinking glasses in the ivory tower of Georgia’s largest electricity provider. Perhaps Georgia Power knew that the EPA would one day say, “Don’t worry about the toxic coal-ash mess you created. It’s OK to pollute.”

That day has arrived.

I guesstimate that over the years Georgia Power has burned billions of tons of coal. And while it has cleaned up many of its coal-ash ponds, there are still millions of tons sitting in groundwater of leaky ponds, potentially leaking harmful heavy metals into our water supply. What’s “clean” and “beautiful” about that?

Georgia Power’s recent estimate was $8.5 billion to remove the toxic waste from the remaining ponds. Did the EPA just give the utility a “get-out-of-jail-free” card?

 

Georgia Power is such a valuable economic partner for our state. We need Georgia Power, and it needs us. A few years back, when the company pledged to quit coal, I offered praise. And then it backtracked. Georgia Power must have known that Washington was going to eventually declare, “Burn, baby, burn.”

If the president, the EPA and its polluting partners really believe coal is clean and beautiful, I have a suggestion for the partiers.

Spike your celebratory cocktails with arsenic-and-lead-laced coal-ash slush.

Take a swig and say, “Cheers.”

“What? That is dangerous. And ludicrous!” you exclaim.

Yeah, I know.

So are the new coal rules. 

 

 

 

 

 

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com