Dusting Erasers...Back to the Future

Friday Forum Friends:

Dusting Erasers...
Back to the Future

"...in spite of the great scientific and technological advances, man has not the faintest idea of who he is or what he is doing." Walker Percy

May 31, 1955...it was the end of the school year. The morning was hot and dry as a group of us sat outside on the back steps of the library, dusting erasers on the brick walls and on each other's heads, as adolescents do. We were waiting for the final bell, the signal that school was out for another year. I was 13, graduating from the 8th grade—the end of middle school, soon to be in the bottom class of high school, and wondering: "What does the future hold?"

The years then were measured from September 1 to May 31, a school year, so there is still a fondness for May 31 in my mind. Summer was here, finally; freedom for 3 months. But time marched on, and soon on another very hot May 31, our high school graduation. My best pal and I drove the jeep down to Yates' Springs to swim...Remember it like it was yesterday. But it was a bitter-sweet day, for soon we'd be college freshmen, again starting at the bottom, and still wondering about the future.

Yes, college graduation ended in May, too, and joyful for another milestone passed, we headed for the big city--Atlanta--assured by a diploma of a fabulous future...only to soon discover we were at the bottom of the next class--the Job Market, that is. We wondered, “Why is the future so tough to grab hold of!”

In time the diploma yellowed as we moved on: jobs, marriage, children, mortgages and life through many September-May years. Summer vacations became occasional weekend escapes, not months of an easy summer. I wondered, “Why was this not the future I'd envisioned?”

May still remains my favorite month for many reasons. Age slows some things down and life changes...but the fond memories of the Mays of years past continue to bring smiles to my face. I suspect you, too, have a favorite month that does likewise.

The future is still unclear, like looking into a diffused mirror, and while this may not be the end destination, one can certainly see it from here! The school of my 8th grade is no longer there...only memories remain. It was a long time ago...We dusted erasers there, wondering about the future, only to now discover that it ends in dust, just like residue of those erasers, and much too soon … too soon.

Bud
May 29, 2008

The Brunswick Jail...A Letter to the Editor

The Brunswick Jail…
A Letter to the Editor

Friends:

A deep sense of civic pride and love for our coastal community compels me to express certain contrarian sentiments on the location of the new Reformation Resort (er, Incarceration Center, or Jail if you prefer) on Main Street in Brunswick. This hot-button issue needs a proper and balanced perspective as the following public declaration will articulate:

Dear Editor: 22 May 2008

I wish to give voice to the opinions held by civic-minded members of Progress-At-All-Costs Advocacy Group, Local 666, of the recent negative public protests and near-riots caused by certain myopic citizens who lack an adequate Progressive Perspective.

Brunswick, GA, once a quaint and erstwhile fishing and port city, last experienced a Defining Event in 1898 when the Hurricane of Providence blew into town and did its best to remake it. Since that time Brunswick has experienced a slow, declining economic health, methodically falling apart brick by brick, its paint peeling and its commerce dwindling. A Pall of Apathy hangs over it like the August humidity where life moves, if at all, like sorghum syrup.

But things are changing fast, and a new Defining Event is about to occur. No longer to be a laughingstock, Brunswick will soon be remade as “The Penal Colony of the Coast.” Enabled by the absurdity of lenient zoning codes given to entice an apparently defunct Harbor of Liberty ~~ 250 feet building height limitations ~~ a new jail will rise from the dust of bungalows eminently domained along Newcastle Street, soon to be renamed Rue de la Bastille de New Castle to give international panache and to pay homage to the foresight of the current nest of County Commissioners. Yes sir, Brunswick is on the cusp of prosperity

Now Fast forward a couple of years … Imagine the Scene:

A gleaming 250-foot brick edifice, windows overlooking the sparkling waters of East River and Marina; glorious evening sunsets; east views overlooking magnificent moss-covered oaks and courthouse parks; free rooms, free food and freedom to relax and enjoy a coastal vacation courtesy of the State… New friends, new experiences ~~ who wouldn’t commit crimes to enjoy such a resort? It’ll stay full!

Imagine this:

Now-vacant streets teeming with life and family members of the Vacationers, kiosks selling chicken wings, snow-cones, p’nuts and pretzels; shops hawking “Penal Resort t-shirts,” and sit-down restaurants catering to the chittlin choppin’ visitors on Visitation Days. Yes, money will be lying in the streets soon… Spur 25 will dry up and a new real estate boom will occur on the beer-can encrusted lots on Norwich Street….Hurry, going fast!

Wait ~ there’s more…..Imagine:

Bail bondsmen with 24/7 neon-flashing promises, adding cache to a renewed 24/ 7 live-work-vacate city. Yes, new high-rise condos for inmate relatives will supplant the dilapidated shacks and increase the rolls of local churches, which will, of course, add to charitable giving to the needy citizens who will be further marginalized and disenfranchised. Yes, all will share equally in this Historic Event, though as usual some will share more equally than others.

Oh, Imagine such new prosperity ~~ why, the commissioners, Good Ole Boys “just doin’ their job,” will have parks named in their honor; bronze statues of themselves will be erected throughout the “new” city; field trips by school children and northern transients off I-95 will visit in awe of such prescient and humble public servants.

Yes, Mr. Editor, expect a Renaissance of Prosperity for the “new” Brunswick: “Penal Colony of the Coast.” Oh, The money, the money ~~ Imagine the possibilities…..

Very truly yours,

Bud

Confess Your Sins...Online

Friends: Confess Your Sins.....
Online

It was bound to happen...the confessional booth has moved from the church to the internet. And why not? Everything else is available on the internet, why not a "sin-confession catharsis" site? Why, one can always be "prayed up" when nasty transgressions come to mind in the privacy of your own home, office or Blackberry-on-the-go.

Check it out: www.Dear-god.net. Even if you don't think much of the public confessions, the art is pretty cool, and actually speaks, at least it did to me.

Being the curious type, I checked it out and confessed on-line to my darkest most heinous sin, the one that has shadowed and plagued me all my life: Procrastination. (Shhhh...don't repeat it.)

I was offered a choice beyond public confession: an interview with a priest in the Bronx or an Indian Shaman in New Mexico. Preferring NM to NY, I chose the Shaman. After the initial discussion, actually the "negotiation" was about price, I was advised that such an embedded sin as procrastination could only come out by long counseling sessions over many years, and I must furnish proof of financial ability before the "forgiveness process" could begin...cash preferred. Apparently even Shamen love a "cheerful giver." I replied, "Let me think about it." (Perhaps it had only been a dream, I can't be sure.)

As it would happen, yesterday I drove up Hwy. 341 out of the quaint prison village of Brunswick, and noticed the diverse abundance of churches. Of course, each church has a sign out front offering motorists 2-second sermons of scriptural puns or dire predictions of the uncertain future. You know, like "the Wages of sin," or "Repent," or "If you died now, would you go to heaven?" I never fail to take the free advice offered, and always feel better the rest of my drive.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any specific advice for my particular sin from any of the dozen or so signs I saw, which I took as a "sign" to me that my sin of procrastination might actually be a good thing...perhaps it will come in handy later on and I will be late for my own funeral. We'll see.

And so, for the first time ever...ever! ...my Friday Forum email will go out on time...see what public confessions can do for you? I'll be looking for yours!

Bud
May 15, 2008

Roundabout Madness...An Island Parody

Roundabout Madness…
An Island Parody

The dreaded shoe finally fell with an awful thud…. “The Roundabout” became a reality and the Commissioners have gone into hiding!

Its opening was punctuated by a wild ecstasy of relief amid a frenetic circus atmosphere. Its epiphany opened the door for Change and Speed, the two Arch-enemies of all small communities. Bells, tolling in the distance, echoed the prophetic words of the Biblical Job,

“…that which I greatly feared has come upon me.”

The genteel serenity of the island has now been violated by first-time navigators of this medieval device. Panic and confusion reigned as the elderly were harassed by horn-honking transients in black-windowed SUVs, yelling obscenities, their menacing fists beating the air. Oh yes, Change and Speed does this to people. It reminded me of an old Southern cliché:

“In little towns, beware of swallowing a cold drink of water and a new idea at the same time!”

For weeks in advance officials offered classes and tutorials on the “Roundabout Navigation” of such novelties imported from Paris, Rome and London. It is even rumored that island visitors will soon be required to complete 5 hours of classroom instruction before being issued an island visa. Only rumor.

This Roundabout madness is spreading like wildfire throughout the island and seeping onto the mainland. It is whispered about that the Pink Ladies Auxiliary is offering on-site training sessions at peak traffic hours. It was heard recently that long lines were forming at the local churches for classes in road rage and anger management. Hurry, space is limited.

In the circle’s center the local police, armed with citation pads, were busy handing out writs to ladies on cell phones and to those who were confused by the “Yield” signs. All the while cash donations were being solicited by certain concerned citizens seeking to erect a bronze statue to an undisclosed dignitary. Lively discussions continue as to a moat to be filled with hungry alligators around the periphery… but my sources are somewhat suspect.

New ideas bring out the best in creativity. Viewing stands overlooking The Roundabout are being planned to offer beer and boiled peanuts where observers can witness the circular madness … or so I heard. Birthday parties and field trips of small children in yellow buses will surely arrive soon.

Why would a remote island need a Roundabout, you ask? Well, its purpose is to eliminate traffic inertia and keep vehicles flowing at even speeds, kinda like those revolving doors in large office buildings. And traffic had begun to hang up at that intersection, angering the snow-cone vendors at East Beach who were complaining of weak profits.

What is the genesis of Roundabouts? The details are shrouded in mystery, but I’d heard they were conceived in the late 19th Century by an Italian road engineer named Giovanni. Rumor has it he was charged with the job of futuristic road designs, but had difficulty coming up with novel ideas. Seems Giovanni was a poor reader, and somehow he mistook Oil of Olive salad dressing for Oil of Castor. The next morning he experienced The Law of Unintended Consequences and, voila, the Roundabout concept issued forth. But don’t quote me on this!

I once had a neighbor, Mr. Pope. He was about 90 and an avid walker. One day I asked, “Say, Mr. Pope, how come you walk so much?” He answered, “Sonny boy, my Doc told me if I quit moving forward my legs’d seize up and I‘d spend the rest of my life in a chair. So, I don’t look back but just keep moving forward ~~ I have no other choice.” Moving forward ~~ that’s what Roundabouts do, and now we have no other choice either.

Alas, progress, ever transient, has inalterably changed the island... Novelty soon loses its appeal. We reluctantly adjust to Change and Speed, and time finds us joining with the Band, Alabama, in these words:

“Song, song of the South…,
Gone, gone with the wind,
There ain’t nobody looking back again.”

Satchel Paige once remarked, “Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.” He is clearly in lockstep with Giovanni and Mr. Pope in their wisdom on Progress: Anything that keeps us moving forward can’t be all bad! So, while you’re roundabout the island, remember when you enter The Roundabout to keep moving and lay off the cell phone.

And if you see a lone biker talking on a cell and going in circles, keep your horn and curses to yourself ~ it might be me…and I failed the anger management course! See you roundabout!

Bud
May 7, 2008

The Baloney Sandwich....Lunch Life on the Wharf

Friends: The Baloney Sandwich…
Lunch Life on the Wharf

Jacksonville, April 30…Tallyrand Street is located in the gritty industrial south side of downtown Jacksonville, just beyond the shadow of Alltel Stadium. It is an area of weathered clapboard houses that Progress looked at once, blinked and moved on.

Lost? Drunk? Kidnapped? No, looking at overlooked opportunities among the dust and noise of oil refineries, container ports and steel fabricating shops where rust and grime are symbols for the neighborhood. In the midst of it all, near the White Horse Bar, stands Russ Doe’s, a “joint” posing as a restaurant. Bench tables, the kind seen at church family buffets, are scattered among the oaks. On these tables “Suits”, drifters, real estate tycoons and steel and wharf workers with forearms the size of thighs dismiss status and seamlessly mix and mingle here, integrated in the strangeness of life and the roads traveled. Picture Willie’s Weenee Wagon.

We entered through the kitchen, and were greeted with “What’ll ya have, boys?” The menu board was a throwback to the fare of a ‘50’s diner (not much has changed here since then!), and my partner asked, "How’s the pimento cheese" to which the short black lady, her head barely visible over the counter, curtly replied, “I don’t much like it, but we sell a lot of it.” With a shrug he said, “Sounds like a good recommendation to me…I’ll have one, and a piece of the oozing pound cake, too.”

Not me, I thought. “Hey, sign says you got bologna?” Eyeballing me suspiciously, she said, “Naw, suh, but we gots baloney.” Pushing, I asked, “Can I get it fried?” Shaking her head, she said, “Boy, you look like one of them city types…whatcha know about fried baloney?” Plenty, but I kept my mouth shut…she didn’t look like she was in the mood for humor. “What kinda bread ya want?” she demanded. “What are my choices?” Pounding the counter, she said, “Any kinds ya want, but Wonder Bread is whats we got’s here…take it or leave it.” I took it, along with the Devil’s Food cake...figured it was metaphoric for something.

Easing out of the kitchen, an empty table appeared. Passing a very large fellow (being Friendly Bud), I nodded,”Hi,” to a response of “Ugh!” ...perhaps his mother had taught him not to speak with his mouth full. I moved on by, quickly. These “across-the-tracks” forgotten neighborhoods have some kind of primordial attraction to me I can’t seem to figure out…they do offer up contemplations, perhaps of luck or destiny or stars or inexplicable somethings. I’ll let you know when I find out.

Now hear me, friends…forgetting what they are not, the folks here in this passed-over neighborhood are very ingenious. On the tables, hanging from the balcony, the trees and walls were small, clear Zip-Loc plastic bags filled with water. “What’s this for,” I asked my friend. He allowed as how that they were the “poor man’s fly repellent.” And true enough, flies swarmed and buzzed, but came nowhere near the “ripe” bologna, uh, excuse me, Baloney, sandwich. And I tell you, folks, judging from the patrons and the food, this was a fly’s heaven.

We survived lunch, and the rest of the day was pleasant and uneventful…but I can’t say as much for the consequences of “morning-after” Baloney sandwiches!

So, in a tribute to a fading Americana, put this slice of Baloney, fried, of course, between some Wonder Bread---no need to read the label: shelf life, 97 years---slather it up real good with mayonnaise, mustard and a little Texas Pete, and live on the wild side…you might even solve the mystery of my “choice-of-neighborhoods” dilemma…let me know.

Bud
May 1, 2008