“You ain‘t from around here, are you?” should be engraved on the Great Seal of Jackson County, and installed in stone over our magnificent courthouse. That is, if we had a Great Seal, and if we had a magnificent courthouse.
To read the rest of the story visit our virtual paper by clicking on this link!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
My Bucket List’s Got a Hole in It!
“The Bucket List”, a fine movie starring two outstanding actors, should be on everyone’s viewing list. In this story Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman become friends who, because one has only a short time to live, write up and accomplish a “to-do” list.
My “Bucket List” popped up in my column “I AM NOW AN OCTAGENARIAN - but I may still go to the Methodist Church on occasion!”.
To read the rest of the story visit our virtual paper by clicking on this link!
My “Bucket List” popped up in my column “I AM NOW AN OCTAGENARIAN - but I may still go to the Methodist Church on occasion!”.
To read the rest of the story visit our virtual paper by clicking on this link!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Another Year, Another Birthday
Last year at this time I headed my column
“To John Paul Jones, the McCains and Me……..Happy Birthday!
The occasion was the thirteenth of October, which is the anniversary of the founding of the United States Navy. I had my friend Terry, who hails from Chattahoochee but who sallies forth into Sneads territory almost every Monday to have coffee with some of us, look up the date as the Jewish calendar presents it, and the day is listed as “the fifth day of the eighth month called Hedvan”. At least that is what he said it is.
To read the rest of the story visit our virtual paper by clicking on this link!
“To John Paul Jones, the McCains and Me……..Happy Birthday!
The occasion was the thirteenth of October, which is the anniversary of the founding of the United States Navy. I had my friend Terry, who hails from Chattahoochee but who sallies forth into Sneads territory almost every Monday to have coffee with some of us, look up the date as the Jewish calendar presents it, and the day is listed as “the fifth day of the eighth month called Hedvan”. At least that is what he said it is.
To read the rest of the story visit our virtual paper by clicking on this link!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Ladies and Gentlemen, in the Center Ring……
Last Sunday afternoon I walked out to my front yard and about a mile away I saw flags and a large striped tent and heard the voice of a man announcing wondrous things……skilled performers and exotic animals and all the thrills that come with a circus. I thought back, as I listened and watched from afar, about my childhood.
Perhaps nothing else brought the joy and wonderment to small towns in the 1930s more than the occasional circus.
In the midst of the Great Depression and in the South that still felt the economic burden of the Reconstruction, life was simple and monotonous, lightened only by the Saturday westerns and radio programs.
And then the circus would come to us!
Chattahoochee did not draw the “Big Top” venues, the Barnum and Bailey and Ringling Brothers shows with elephant after elephant parading through the streets to announce the evening shows. There were no highly decorated wagons laden with lions and tigers and bears (“Oh My!”), driven by men dressed in gaudy uniforms and with beautiful and scantily clad aerialists waving from the tops. Many times our circus would ease into town after dark and set up the tents and feed the animals, and the people would bed down in their trailers to rest up from their journey from the last “wide spot in the road”.
Tallahassee would occasionally be lucky enough to flag down “The Greatest Show on Earth” for a couple of days, and a few of us could make the trip with our parents, where we would feast our eyes and our imaginations on the high flying trapeze artists and the fearless lion tamers and the Human Cannonball and maybe, even get a glimpse of the great explorer Frank Buck, who “brought them back alive” from the jungles of Africa.
Our circuses had worn, patched tents, sometimes sitting askew after they were pitched. We were lucky to see a couple of elephants, but two elephants were just fine, for many of us had never seen even one before a circus deemed Chattahoochee worth a stopover. Lions and tigers? Usually one each, and each one close to his or her dotage. Rousing himself up at feeding time was the action we saw from the king of the jungle, but that was enough for us!
The circus always had dogs aplenty, smart and active ones that did summersaults and flips and jumped through burning hoops and over bars and from one high ladder to the other. As we watched we would make plans to teach our own Fido or Skippy to perform, but we never quite got them past obeying commands to “speak” or to “roll over”.
And the ladies that flipped from the high bar into the hands of the catcher were lovely and costumed with glittering sequins and feathers. At least they were lovely under the lights and from a distance. Up close they looked hard and tired and worn. But when we were seated in the bleachers and they were thirty feet in the air, they appeared as goddesses to us, goddesses that we small boys could fall in love with.
Sometimes when winter set in and the circuses had wended their way back to Sarasota, my father and mother would take me to Marianna, and we would park and observe the Mighty Haag folks in their winter quarters. In the cold light of day, the circus was not wonderful at all. The performers seemed like everyday people as they repaired and rebuilt equipment and practiced routines that seemed simple but would turn into magic when once again the wagons were loaded and taken down the road.
I recall one circus in Chattahoochee in particular, though. One day a man stopped at our dealership to get some service work done. In talking with him my father found that he was the advance man for a circus that was on the way to California to disband. This was their last trip, and at the end of the road the owners would pay off the employees, sell off the equipment and find homes for their animals. Soon my father had made a deal: for $100 the circus would camp down on the ball field owned by the Florida State Hospital, and would do two performances; the one in the afternoon would be for the patients of the Hospital, and the one in the evening would be for everyone that wished to attend.
Both performances were free to the public, and as a bonus we were allowed to show off the new Fords from the center ring. The ladies swung from the high bar and the men walked the tight rope, and the ringmaster directed our attention to the various rings as the dogs jumped and did tricks, and the clowns rolled out with their antics, and the two elephants, a mother and her child, walked around and waved their trunks.
It was truly an unforgettable night for us. The circus got underway the next day and went on down the road, drawing nearer to oblivion with each stop.
And then one day I saw where Walt Disney, the famous animator and film maker, was planning a giant entertainment park, unlike any other on earth, and he was going to have rides, and “live” cartoon characters, and animals.
And there in a picture was the famous man posing with Baby Opal, the elephant that once graced the center ring of a small circus and had played to a captivated crowd in a little Southern town.
Perhaps nothing else brought the joy and wonderment to small towns in the 1930s more than the occasional circus.
In the midst of the Great Depression and in the South that still felt the economic burden of the Reconstruction, life was simple and monotonous, lightened only by the Saturday westerns and radio programs.
And then the circus would come to us!
Chattahoochee did not draw the “Big Top” venues, the Barnum and Bailey and Ringling Brothers shows with elephant after elephant parading through the streets to announce the evening shows. There were no highly decorated wagons laden with lions and tigers and bears (“Oh My!”), driven by men dressed in gaudy uniforms and with beautiful and scantily clad aerialists waving from the tops. Many times our circus would ease into town after dark and set up the tents and feed the animals, and the people would bed down in their trailers to rest up from their journey from the last “wide spot in the road”.
Tallahassee would occasionally be lucky enough to flag down “The Greatest Show on Earth” for a couple of days, and a few of us could make the trip with our parents, where we would feast our eyes and our imaginations on the high flying trapeze artists and the fearless lion tamers and the Human Cannonball and maybe, even get a glimpse of the great explorer Frank Buck, who “brought them back alive” from the jungles of Africa.
Our circuses had worn, patched tents, sometimes sitting askew after they were pitched. We were lucky to see a couple of elephants, but two elephants were just fine, for many of us had never seen even one before a circus deemed Chattahoochee worth a stopover. Lions and tigers? Usually one each, and each one close to his or her dotage. Rousing himself up at feeding time was the action we saw from the king of the jungle, but that was enough for us!
The circus always had dogs aplenty, smart and active ones that did summersaults and flips and jumped through burning hoops and over bars and from one high ladder to the other. As we watched we would make plans to teach our own Fido or Skippy to perform, but we never quite got them past obeying commands to “speak” or to “roll over”.
And the ladies that flipped from the high bar into the hands of the catcher were lovely and costumed with glittering sequins and feathers. At least they were lovely under the lights and from a distance. Up close they looked hard and tired and worn. But when we were seated in the bleachers and they were thirty feet in the air, they appeared as goddesses to us, goddesses that we small boys could fall in love with.
Sometimes when winter set in and the circuses had wended their way back to Sarasota, my father and mother would take me to Marianna, and we would park and observe the Mighty Haag folks in their winter quarters. In the cold light of day, the circus was not wonderful at all. The performers seemed like everyday people as they repaired and rebuilt equipment and practiced routines that seemed simple but would turn into magic when once again the wagons were loaded and taken down the road.
I recall one circus in Chattahoochee in particular, though. One day a man stopped at our dealership to get some service work done. In talking with him my father found that he was the advance man for a circus that was on the way to California to disband. This was their last trip, and at the end of the road the owners would pay off the employees, sell off the equipment and find homes for their animals. Soon my father had made a deal: for $100 the circus would camp down on the ball field owned by the Florida State Hospital, and would do two performances; the one in the afternoon would be for the patients of the Hospital, and the one in the evening would be for everyone that wished to attend.
Both performances were free to the public, and as a bonus we were allowed to show off the new Fords from the center ring. The ladies swung from the high bar and the men walked the tight rope, and the ringmaster directed our attention to the various rings as the dogs jumped and did tricks, and the clowns rolled out with their antics, and the two elephants, a mother and her child, walked around and waved their trunks.
It was truly an unforgettable night for us. The circus got underway the next day and went on down the road, drawing nearer to oblivion with each stop.
And then one day I saw where Walt Disney, the famous animator and film maker, was planning a giant entertainment park, unlike any other on earth, and he was going to have rides, and “live” cartoon characters, and animals.
And there in a picture was the famous man posing with Baby Opal, the elephant that once graced the center ring of a small circus and had played to a captivated crowd in a little Southern town.
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