One Saturday night in early 1969, as a high school senior who should have known better, I decided to see how fast my 1964 Impala sport coupe could go. Bought for $995 just a few months before, my sweet baby had a 327 V8, a Muncie 4-speed and new state-of-the-art, wide oval, Tiger Paw red-stripe tires on her.
Have you heard that Herb Score passed away just a few days ago? He was the longtime announcer for the Cleveland Indians, calling games mostly on radio from 1964 to 1997. A lot of folks may not know, however, that before the move into the announcer's booth, Score was on the cusp of becoming the greatest left-handed pitcher of all time.
I'm thinking today how particularly grateful I am for veterans of the United States armed forces. We'll celebrate Veterans' Day, a legal holiday originally known as Armistice Day, the day after tomorrow. It's my fervent hope that every American will stop what they're doing and, in their own way, honor our veterans. You'd think the reason is blatantly obvious, but it's not. In my experience some folks still just don't get it; they apparently think that all this freedom and justice stuff came about by happenstance.
A pleasant good morning to one and all on this first Sunday in November 2008, as we experience the return to Eastern Standard Time. Some of us, undoubtedly, missed the news to turn the clocks back one hour, and even now are considering whether or not a mad rush will accomplish getting to Sunday school and church services on time.
Anyone whose life has been closely touched by suicide knows, all too well, the insidious nature of the associated grief that invades your heart. Sometimes it seems there's no escape from thinking about the event. You replay everything that led up to it, going back through the years, looking for signs that might have portended trouble on the horizon.
When the first of next year rolls around, I will have had the honor of appearing in these pages of my local newspaper for 10 full years. My first column appeared in January, 1999, in the sports section, and for a number of years I was the curmudgeonly sports opinion guy. But a little over two years ago I was given the opportunity to become the grizzled old Sunday opinion guy, and as I feel it a privilege to visit you with my thoughts each week, I've tried to behave responsibly.
If you were lucky enough to grow up in a small Georgia town, if you had occasion to listen to farmers and other country folks tell tales at the general store or around a pot-bellied stove, you know that a good bit of the most valuable part of your education came from the clichés and other proverbs which, from time immemorial, have issued forth from the common man.