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 

Humor helps smooth bumps in life’s road

  

"A person without a sense of humor is like a wagon without springs—jolted by every pebble in the road." –Henry Ward Beecher

             

            The Great Depression didn't just sprinkle pebbles in the road. It spread rocks of despair on almost every path. With today’s war and other uncertainties, we’re seeing the “roads” of our lives pocked with potholes and pebbles.

            That's why humor is so important.

            I like to be around people who can retrieve a funny story to take the jolt out of reality. That's one reason, among dozens, that I enjoyed spending time with my friend, the late James Harper. He was a treasure trove of laughs. Practical jokes took the sting out of the 1930s.

Here are two of James’ classics:

            E.T. Youngblood, proprietor of Alfred Dorman Wholesale Grocers, was a quintessential Southern gentleman. He ran a thriving business with warehouses in Jesup and Eastman. Golf and quail hunting were two of his pastime passions.

            E.T. decided that he had to have a pedigreed bird dog, so he searched the nation. James said the grocer found a blue-ribbon pointer "up the country" and wired $150 to its owner. The dog, with a prestigious bloodline, was to be shipped via Railway Express.

E.T.’s apprentice, Carey Brannen, was also a quail hunter. James believed Carey tipped off “Cracker” Williams (namesake of Cracker Williams Recreation Center) and E.J. Nix, the freight agent at the depot.

E.T. couldn't wait for his dog to arrive. Neither could his buddies.

            In the meantime, “Cracker” scoured the streets to find a mangy, flea-bitten mongrel. And when the high-dollar dog arrived, the switcheroo was made. The prize dog was hidden, and E.J. called his friend to hurry to the train station.

E.T. was flabbergasted. He cried, “I’ve been bamboozled!” And that stung more than the hefty sum that he had paid for the pointer. Carey, “Cracker” and E.J. milked the prank for a few days. Finally, they delivered the mail-order dog to the Pine Street warehouse.

            All the characters in the prank are dead. But almost 100 years later, folks are still laughing when they hear the story.

            And James was in on this next practical joke.

            John Mattox, T.G. Ritch Jr., Carey Brannen and James orchestrated this practical joke on a buddy, who will remain anonymous. They told their gullible friend about a party in Doctortown. Pretty girls from Brunswick were visiting their uncle, down by the river.

            T.G. and James chauffeured their friend to "the party." When they walked up on the porch and knocked on the door, a gruff man answered. John Mattox was playing the mean uncle inside. In a surly voice, John demanded, 'What do you want?"

            ''We've come to the party," James said.

            "I told you boys to never come back!" John bellowed.

            From the other side of the door, they could hear a shotgun being loaded.

            "Run!" T.G. hollered.

            The trio scattered for the woods as John kicked open the door and blasted buckshot over their heads.

            James and T.G. yelped and fell. Their friend kept running, all the way to U.S. 301.

            Carey “just happened" to be driving by and saw the fellow frantically hitching his thumb. Before they got to town, Carey said, "It's too bad James and T.G. got shot." His rider was stunned that the news had traveled so fast. But he agreed they should go to the hospital to check on their wounded friends.

            When Carey pulled into the Cherry Street parking lot, T.G. and James were hiding behind a tree, watching.

            And laughing.

            Next time you see Booger Harvey, ask how he and his buddies borrowed the idea from the 1930s and pulled this prank in the 1960s.

            And listen to his gold-medal laugh.

(A version of this column was originally published on Aug. 10, 2011.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com 

Surely, there’s a ‘pony’ in the pile of smelly rhetoric

  

            My 18-year trek through school started as a 3-year-old in Jack & Jill Kindergarten. And all the way through, including college, none of my teachers ever hinted that I was the smartest kid in the class.

            Not much has changed since.

            I do the best I can with what I have, relying mostly on hard work and a positive attitude. I believe my mother inspired that sunny outlook as she read—over and over— “The Little Engine That Could.” I grew up with that same “I think I can, I think I can” spirit and drive.

            As a result, I am a hopeless optimist. I keep telling myself that there must be a silver lining, somewhere, in today’s black clouds hanging over the globe.

            And that reminds me of the two brothers. One was a pessimist, and the other an optimist. As Christmas approached, the perpetual black-cloud brother decided to teach his happy-faced sibling a lesson.

            The optimist had asked Santa to bring him a pony. It had been on his wish list for years. And the pessimist was sick of hearing about it. That’s why—while everyone was sleeping—he dumped a pile of horse manure under the Christmas tree. “That’ll teach him,” the grump hissed.

            The next morning, the pessimist was the first to race down the stairs. He wanted to watch his brother’s reaction. And smirk.

            But here’s what the optimist said about what “Santa had left him”. With glee, he exclaimed, “With this much horse manure, there has to be a pony somewhere!”

            Now, back to the world in chaos.

            Pick a topic, any topic.

How about the here-we-go-again-war in the Middle East? Appears we didn’t learn enough from the 20-year experience in Iraq and Afghanistan. The worst expense wasn’t the trillions of dollars sunk in that faraway sand. Money is just money. How about the American lives lost and the veterans who came home mentally and physically wounded?

            President Donald Trump’s vow was that he didn’t start wars. Rather, he ended wars. Was that just an exaggeration, as was his campaign promise to end the Ukraine-Russia War on Day One? His exact words, “Day One.”

            And within days after joining Israel in a war against Iran, the president proclaimed, “We’ve already won.” The enemy’s firepower and ability to fight back are obliterated, so we were told. Looks like the Iranian leadership and their allies weren’t listening. The Middle East is filled with America-haters. Just ask the Houthi in Yemen. And how can we ever trust the Russians?

            What about the pledge to not put red-white-and-blue “boots on the ground”? If that’s the plan, why are thousands of our men and women flooding the war zone? Is it a negotiating tactic, a bluff or a signal that more American blood will be spilled on those oil-rich sands? If 20-year-old Barron Trump’s feet were shoved into a pair of those combat boots, would our president have different feelings?

            I repeat: “I have never been accused of being the smartest person in any of my classes.” Or any room. But I do believe our president has put us into another could-be endless war without thinking through the consequences. And what has Congress done? Nothing, except take a two-week vacation.

            I agree, Mr. President, we don’t want Iran to have nuclear weapons. But please tell us there is a logical exit strategy beyond your statement of “feel it in my bones” as to when to withdraw.

            In the meantime, too much of what’s happening in Washington looks and smells like horse manure. But as an eternal optimist, I am searching for the “pony.”

            And I believe millions of other Americans are, too.