6th grade history class

So... hi.  It's been a while. I keep thinking I'll blog way more than I have, so I'll just admit, I have no idea when another blog is coming.  No clue. So enjoy this one.

Did you know that I just celebrated 25 years being a high school graduate?  (In March I also crossed the 20 year mark as a college grad -- GO TROY STATE -- but I kinda forgot about it until... well, like, just now.)

So last week, I took pictures of, then posted onto Instagram (@davedollar) and onto Facebook my 7th grade class.  I thought this summer might be a good time to spend uploading a few pictures, with my ultimate goal being to scan my yearbooks in their entirety and put them in Facebook albums... kind of a "Summer of The Class of 1993" of sorts, without the official title, and the official committment... because if I forget to upload (which is why I'm doing this now and not yesterday--Thursday), then no loss.

You may wonder why I didn't post the 6th grade class last week, but instead doing them out of order... some of you OCD folk may be all like "7th than 6th??  What kind of monster is he??"

I did this for two specific reasons, neither of which are that I forgot. No, I did it because of those black marks you see above Stephanie Phillips, Misty Kimble's, Jennifer Lambert's and Nicki Vann's heads. 

Not too long after we got the yearbook, whenever that was, myself and four of my buddies wrote our names above the girl we thought was the prettiest.  Not an ownership, mind you (Settle down, #MeToo), but more of a "This is who I want to go with".  A year later, I was petrified someone would find it, so I blacked them out with marker.

SIDEBAR: How many iterations of "dating" have there been?  "They are an item" and "Going steady" were before my time... in my day, it was "Go with".  Soon after, it apparently became "Going out with".  Unsure what it might be today.  Probably something to do with being on fleek or making rhymes like "hey hey my bae" or some such nonsense. 

Considering it's been 31 years at this point, I don't mind saying that I wrote my name over Misty Kimble's picture.  She was my first real crush, and I think I spent 4th through 7th grade moving between "kinda liked" and "loved". She actually knows this (but not in 1987 -- I would have been mortified), and thinks its funny.  As for Stephanie, Jennifer and Nicki... well, those names will remain with me.  Mostly because I've forgotten one, I'm not positive on one and sometimes mysteries are fun... because they probably don't remember either.

For the record, Greg Avant, who spent his later years pining for Jennifer Lambert, was none of guys who played this game in my yearbook.  Just to clear that up.

Moving beyond that, I did something in my 6th grade yearbook that for some reason, I didn't do in any others... I documented the 1986 to 1987 school year.

So here, in its unedited form, is what I wrote... the history of the class of 93, from September 1986 to May 1987... with a few notes in the brackets, italicized:

Shannon Williamson joined us in our 6th grade class this year. She's crazy, weird, but really likeable. She'll really clear you up when you're down.  I went to the junior high building for the first time as we entered the junior high years. Ms Whittle was my favorite teacher over Coach Champion, Coach Weeks, Mrs Rials, and Mr White. My favorite subject was Social Studies. Michael Knowles, Greg Avant, and me became ketchup brothers (we were chicken to use real blood).

Marianne Harvey, who me and Greg used to tease, moved [note--For what it's worth, Marianne, I'm really sorry I was a jerk].  I met Allen Wise. Aka needle-nose, who was teachers aid in PE.  The Tigers had their first winning season in a long, long time. This was the last year at good ol' SHS. I was conducted (note--what??) as the 4-H reporter beating out Stephanie Phillips.  This was also the last year for Terry Ferris.

There was a lot of going steady. Lee and Stephanie. Jason and Nicki. Daniel and Felicia. Auburn had a lot of controversy over Bama 21-17. Not many people liked it alot. Lee Futch and Michael Creech entered the crazy, wild, never calmed class of '93. I exempted from my semester exam 7th period on the last day of school, so I didn't have to go. Tonya [Windham] threatened to kill me, and Jason [Smith] said "I hate you"

I won 3 tigers (awards) for Social Studies. But Stan won the trophy, and he didn't win one tiger for Social Studies!

[let me clarify -- every six weeks, the highest average got a little poofy tiger award, and the fact that I won 3 out of the 6 that year, but Stan took home the year end trophy really bugged me.  Stan, I was robbed.]

Only 6 more years until "Seniors!" We had gone halfway and we think we can go the other half. I thin at sometime, everybody thinks about their senior year. Daniel [Stephenson] started listening to heavy metal, Clay and Monty will soon become a black belt, Greg, well he's my best friend so I could fill a whole page about him, Michael [Knowles] and Johnny [Knowles], well you know how they are! Come '93, I'm really gonna miss em.

But I can always look back in this book and find the wild times in 6th grade! This was also the year that people who didn't grow out of toys in 5th, they did in 6th. Thanks to Greg, Michael, Johnny, Daniel, Monty, Clay, Tonya, Stan, Jason, Allen Wise, Chris, Lee, Stephanie, Misty and Victor for making this one of the best year for a while to come. I wish I could write 100 more pages, but I don't have enough room. So I'll see you in the next yearbook to write about 7th!

Aaaand I'm back. So there ya go, 6th grade in a nutshell.  I guess next week we'll skip ahead to 8th grade.

the geneva walmart

So, the Wal-Mart in Geneva, AL, turns 30 today, this the last day of August.

Here you see Birmingham, Troy, Samson,
and Geneva. The pink dots are bigger than
the actual towns themselves.

Let me set the geography for the many of you that have no clue where I'm talking about. I'm from a little town called Samson, population 2100, with 2 red lights and a caution light, and 40ish members of the graduation class of 1993.  Our family moved to 201 N. Johnson Street in 1984, then across the side street to 211 North Johnson Street in 1985, and finally, 208 N. Johnson Street in 1986... yes, we moved one house over, across a street, then moved across N. Johnson to another house, and that would be the home I lived in until I moved off to college in the fall of 1993.

Samson has two main roads - the aforementioned N. Johnson, which runs north to south, and Hwy 52, which runs east to west, and essentially is the "downtown" part of Samson, Alabama.  So if you left my house, took a left once you hit town at Hwy 52, and then drove 8 miles... past the Subway/Dollar General (is that still there?) and the old peanut mill, past the log cabin house, past the pipe plant thing, past the McInnis' veterinarian office, past the caution light, past the cutoff road to go to Joey Stephens' old house and where Forrest & Charlotte Wright live (and Sandy and Cristie too), and yes, past the Sunny Meadows Cemetery (rest in peace, Jennifer W-B) you'll come to the Geneva County seat, a small city called Geneva, Alabama.

And if you did all of these things on August 31st, 1987, you'd see the brand spankin' new Walmart. To my 12 year old self, this was amazing.  I had only heard tale of such discount stores, but to have a Walmart here?  Eight miles from my house??  I mean... that was even cooler than the McDonald's in Geneva (which would be about 9 miles from my house), or the movie theaters in Enterprise (around 20 miles from my house), or even the brand new Wiregrass Commons Mall in Dothan (I lived 45 miles from a mall... those were the days).

This Walmart was amazing!  It had records and tapes, and clothes, and cool things and other cool things and it was HUGE.  I mean, not as big as that new Walmart Supercenter that opened in Enterprise in what, 1989?  But still.  A Walmart was 8 miles from me.  So awesome.

And I frequented that Walmart.  Frequently.

As a matter of fact, I can tell you with certainty that in the time it opened until I moved to Troy in 1993, I purchased the following:

The majesty of the Walmart in Geneva. To 12 year old me, it was a castle.
To 42 year old me, its a quaint reminder of childhood. 

• Debbie Gibson's "Out of the Blue" album on vinyl, and considering it just turned 30 itself, this might be the first thing I ever purchased from a Walmart.  
• The soundtrack to the movie "Cocktail", also on vinyl
• A Valentine's gift for my high school girlfriend Cindy H, which I believe was pajamas
• A birthday gift for my friend Stephanie Phillips, who said after her birthday that I didn't even get her a card. She was kidding, but I bought her a shirt.  Nowadays, a "shirt from Walmart" doesn't sound as nice as "a shirt from Target" or "a shirt from Macys", but to me, it was an awesome gift. It was white with pink stripes. It had shoulder pads. Yes, looking back, it was probably not very fashionable, and to Stephanie's credit, she wore it at least once.  But I bought it with my own money, so it's the thought that counts, right? Right.
• Tons of paper and notebooks for the stories I wrote in junior high and high school, and I wrote a ton. By hand. I wore mechanical pencils slap out (of which I also bought at Walmart)
• Starship's "Knee Deep in the Hoopla" and The Jets' self titled album, both on cassette. I loved The Jets
• A pair of silk boxer shorts, just because I wanted to find out what silk boxers felt like. They ride. Bad.
• My first tennis racket. I was inspired by Jennifer Capriati and Wimbledon back in the day, and I played tennis regularly for the next 15 to 20 years. 
• Amy Grant's "That's What Love is For" on cassette single. I still have it.  Love that song.
• Cathy King's baby shower gift, which was a carseat.  She was a classmate of mine, and to be fair, High School Girlfriend Cindy H and I bought it together.
• Angie Jay's homecoming gift, because she was my date in October 1992. Until Bradley Miller screwed that up.  Don't remember the gift, but I never gave it.  There's a high school story for you. 
• A ficus tree for Ms Peterson, my civics teacher, because her kindness saved my Troy scholarship. I left after my last final as a high school student, sped down to the Geneva Walmart, bought it and sped back, putting it in her classroom before her planning period was over.   

This Walmart holds a ton of memories for me, and I'm glad it's still open. And I'm actually glad it's not 24 hours -- its hours are something like 7a to 9p or maybe even 10p on the weekends.  And whereas the Walmart (formerly a "Supercenter", but now just called "Walmart") that is about 4 minutes from my home through traffic is a behemoth of a building, the Geneva Walmart is less than 150 paces from one side to the other.  I know because I've counted it.  150 paces would get you out of the grocery department and maybe past the self service checkout at the Walmart on Hwy 280, close to me.

And when I have a few extra minutes as I'm coming through Samson (with my old house being sold, there isn't a lot of "coming to" Samson now), I'll drive down Hwy 52, stop at Sunny Meadows and see my friend Jennifer for a minute, then stop in the Geneva Walmart. Sometimes just to walk around, though that doesn't take long. Sometimes to remember where I used to purchase records, then cassettes, then the Plexiglas case that had CD long boxes -- CD players were too fancy for my blood in 1992, I tell you.

So, happy 30th birthday, Geneva Walmart. May you be around another 30, and I'll see you soon, I'm sure.

(Many thanks to my friend Amy Warr for retweeting the WTVY-TV link that alerted me to this great holiday -- you can read their story here, though mine is better)

kenny weeks & wall street football

One of my tasks this year is to be more encouraging to people, part of my PIKE way of life that I've created, owned and adopted... and in that, I made it a point to go onto Facebook and anyone having a birthday on the little birthday calendar thing, I put a personal note on their page to say Happy Birthday.  And I seldom just say "Happy Birthday", I try to add something to it, to make it a little more personal so people know I'm not just copying and pasting that phrase over and over. 

Sometimes, a name will pop up that I am very good friends with, and I'll add a few lines, make a joke or whatever.  Other times, it might be someone I haven't spoken to in a long, long time, and so I'll say something about the time its been, or that I hope they are well and so on.  Just to make it personal.

Tonight, I came across the name "Kenny Weeks".  Kenny is turning 44 today... I had to dig into my high school yearbook to verify, but that puts him in the Class of 1988.  And that puts me in 7th grade when he was a senior.  For those reading this from Samson, its the yearbook that says "Just the Right Year" on it, with the painted tiger, the corner pic of the high school, and the words "SAMSONIAN" emblazoned across the front.  In this book that is no more than a 125 pages max, you'll see student pics from the seniors all the way to the kindergarten. 

What's fun about flipping through a yearbook like this is you kinda recognize a few names on Facebook, with a "Oh... THAT is who that is... geez... woulda never gotten that."  The senior class included names like Missy Ausley... Lydia Phillips (lovely girl, but has a total 1988 hair do with a complete Simba mane)... Shane Bowdoin... this was a class heavy on attractive people, I gotta tell ya.  I was always a Lisa Bradshaw fan myself, but I honestly do not believe I was the one who wrote the word "FINE" over her yearbook pic... for starters, its not my handwriting, plus, I would be way too afraid she would see it.  I guess its safe now, though.

Back to Kenny.

Kenny was a stocky guy, kind of a soft voice, seemed like a good guy... as a matter of fact, something happened in 6th grade that made me always think he was a good guy. 

One of those random acts of kindness, kind of like the one that my schoolmate Shanna Nowling did for me, as chronicled here.  (if you haven't read that post, go ahead and read it. its one of my favorites in the last year or so)

Our high school was small, and in 1987, it was kind of run down... at that time, we had a high school in a larger building, and the junior high (back then, it was "junior high", not "middle school", in the same way it was "junior college" not "community college".  it was a simpler time) was a smaller building kinda off to the side.  It had classrooms that were not even used, and in complete disarray... a set of steep steps coming up to the center hall, and a dilapidated auxiliary building that I eventually took 8th grade civics class in with Mr. Weeks.  That's Danny Weeks, not Kenny Weeks, though I'm unsure of any relation.

My thinking was I was in 6th grade for this story, but I actually think I was in 7th... anyway, you come out of the junior high building in the back, and it opens up to a huge courtyard area--a pleasant way of saying a big dirt road.  Across that area you get to the baseball field, and during PE class on a hot 1987 fall day, the boys were sent out to the baseball field to do whatever it is we did during PE. 

Let me stop here and explain something... I was a scrawny, tiny little runt of a dude.  I was chased around in 6th grade by Shane Gillis and Drew Snell, and in 7th, was scared to death of Sambo Cade... that's not a racist remark, people actually called him "Sambo".  Like, I probably developed my sense of humor, good or bad, as a defense.  If you were going to chase me, I'd at least get a good zinger in. Years later, much of this hasn't changed, which is probably a bad thing.

Anyway, it goes without saying, sports were not my thing.  I was still about 4 years away from learning tennis, I had no understanding of football or baseball or basketball other than the sportscards I collected--and still have--and so every day, PE was torture for me.  Cause I couldn't do anything, and I literally was the last person picked in team sports just about every day.

My friend Greg was a big dude, so he was slower, but in games like dodgeball or even tackle football, he was picked ahead of me. 

Do they even do team lineups and picking teams and such now?  I mean, it seems like a mean thing to do to a kid, but looking back, so what?  I did just fine.  Anyway.

So, on this day,  the guys get out there, myself included.  I'm already sweating, cause its south Alabama in the early fall, the baseball field, not really needed until January for ball practice, wasn't mowed well, so there were weeds everywhere and I had bugs on me and maybe chiggers...

(do we think that "chiggers" is a racist term in the bug world?  like, chiggers can say "chigger" but other bugs like ants or grasshoppers can't dare say it?  just curious.)

...and it was miserable.  That day, there was a group of guys on the Samson High football team out there running a scrimmage... I say that, but they actually were just tossing the ball, running some plays, who knows why they were there.  Kenny Weeks was one of them. 

For whatever reason, I cannot tell you why and it really doesn't matter for the purposes of this story, the seven or eight football players asked 7th grade us to join them in playing some ball.  Now, I was truly one of the littlest guys out there, but there were some guys with some size to them, guys that went on to play in high school themselves... not me, though.

Of course, I was one of the last guys to be assigned a side, though if I remember it correctly, we didn't actually play a game, the high school guys just kind of directed us young folk where to go and what to do, to help them run plays and all...

And in my sweat and misery, I remember making the comment of, and this is paraphrasing, but this is almost perfectly right, "this is about as fun as eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and reading the Wall Street Journal." (note: I misquoted myself when I first posted this column--as I lay in bed an hour later, it came to be exactly what I said, which is what you read now, as I corrected it)  I said this because I felt so out of place and stupid for not knowing what a fullback was, or what an end tackle was supposed to do.  I mean, where were we supposed to learn this stuff?

When I said that, a few of the guys laughed, older and younger.  My friend Chris McCall was just like me, not a sportsy guy, but he was a lot more popular than I was, so he could coast on that.  Not so for me.  So when I made all of them laugh, it kinda made me feel good and all...

So Kenny Weeks called me "Wall Street" while we were out there.  He would say "Hey Wall Street, make sure you cover Jason" or "Ok, Wall Street, when I hike the ball..." or whatever.  I actually thought it was a badge of honor... I mean, Kenny was a popular cat, so it was really cool to be recognized like such.

A little while later, the game broke up, guys started walking away, our grade's PE was almost over, and Kenny asked me, "So, Wall Street, you don't like football, huh?"  I just shrugged and said, "I don't really know how to play it.  So its hard, cause I don't know what I'm doing."

Now, he could have been condescending and made a joke.  He could have said, "That's too bad, man," and walked away.  Kenny could have even said, "Its not hard.  You should learn it."


But no.  Here's what he actually did...

"Heads up," he said, tossing me the ball lightly, so I could--and did--catch it.  He asked me to throw it back to him, and I kinda sorta did in a haphazard way, as it flopped through the air.

"Come here, let me show you this," he motioned.  I walked over, and Kenny Weeks, high school senior, guy who not only was popular but actually probably talked to Lisa Bradshaw on a regular basis, gave me a 2 minute lesson on how to toss a football.  Fingers on laces, let it roll off the hand, release like this, here you try it, not bad, try it again, that's pretty good, here catch...

I know it was only a few minutes, nothing more, as time was winding down and we all had places to be... but I remember that.  I remember that act of kindness... that act of someone much older, in a much higher position in my eyes taking the time to not just talk to me, but talk to me in a way that I wasn't beneath him, that I wasn't behind him in age, but that I was his peer.  He talked to me as if we were both buddies in the same class.

So, happy 44th birthday, Kenny Weeks. 

And another lesson in kindness to you all... the big stuff usually gets remembered, sometimes.  But there are so many little things that mean more, because they are so little, yet so impactful.  You don't know when your little act of kindness will still be talked about 27 years later. 

(7182 words written for #20KWords in March... 12,818 words to go)

My Lesley Foley Impersonation (Reunion II)

One of the best (or worst, depending on who you are) parts about a class reunion, be it five, ten, fifteen or beyond, is seeing people that you hadn't seen in a long, long time. Friends you had, chicks you crushed on, people you didn't care for (but can't remember quite why), people you just knew and were used to seeing every day for years and years and suddenly, strangely, they are completely out of your life in every way possible.

When it comes to my own reunion back in 2002, for my 10th year anniversary of the Class of 1993, I saw some faces I welcomed like Chris McCall, Tonya Windham, Greg Avant, Stephanie Phillips, Tammy Thomas... now, with the except of Greg, I can keep up with them via Facebook. Some people, like my 4th grade crush Misty Kimble, I haven't actually seen since we walked off the football field around 8:30pm graduation night.

I think anyone who had been to a high school reunion will relate to some of this... just like The Lovely Steph Leann and DeLisa, who were attending their 15th anniversary of the Baker High School (Mobile, AL) Class of 1994.

After the treasure hunting that DeNick and I went on Saturday morning, as reported in my previous post, we all met back at the house for lunch at Baudean's Seafood. After lunch, I took a short nap, The Lovely Steph Leann took an unfortunately-for-her shorter nap, and DeLisa and DeNick did stuff there at DeLisa's DeParents house. He probably went fishing for a little while, and she just took it easy, being what, four months pregnant or something.

Around 445p or so, we were ready to leave. I won't be revealing any espionage type secrets in saying that DeNick wasn't thrilled about going, as he could care less about going to his own reunion, while I had mixed feelings about it myself. A whole room of people I had never seen nor heard of, in a class large enough to have people that DeLisa and The Lovely Steph Leann, actual members of this class, had never met or heard of.


Yours Truly and The Lovely Steph Leann at her high school reunion. Gosh, we're cute.

But, DeNick is a loving husband and supportive of his wonderful wife, who actually helped put it together, and was going for her. I had dragged The Close Friend Steph Campbell to my aforementioned reunion years and years ago, and like DeNick, was willing to support my wife in her ventures, so away the four of us went.

The reunion was held at The Blue Gill Restaurant over in nearby Spanish Fort, out on the patio. While DeLisa had scrounged around for her 1994 Senior Yearbook, "The Novis", The Lovely Steph Leann had dug in the archives to find a ton of pictures, spirit ribbons, buttons and all sorts of nostalgic memorabilia. We walked through the restaurant to find a girl named Lynn Sprouse (now Kilgore), who quickly became one of my favorites of the night. It seemed that DeLisa and Lynn were part of a larger committee to help plan this shindig, but over time, it became ONLY DeLisa and Lynn planning this shindig, so while friendly enough, Lynn was quick to point out the failings of some other people. And it made me laugh.


DeNick's expression tells of his joy at being at a high school reunion

We spread the memory junk on the table for all to see, along with a guest book for people to write their current information, plus a space to put "feedback for a possible 20th year reunion". To this, I later looked and found someone had simply written "yes".

The food was heavy hors d'oeurvres, which was veggies, chicken fingers and peel-n-eat shrimp. DeLisa had mentioned this earlier, so I was fairly excited because I'm not talented in very many areas, but one thing I can do very well is eat shrimp. Imagine my disappointment when a tray was brought out full of shrimp, covered in what looked like cajun spices. I am NOT a spice person... enough spice to make a young Dakota Fanning go, "Hmm, that is a little spicy" is probably enough to make me say, "Holy crap, that's friggin' hot!"

DeNick and I sat and chatted for a few, while The Lovely Steph Leann and DeLisa began making rounds with people as the Class of 94 slowly trickled in. We eventually ventured out of the patio, down a ramp and to the backside where a small boat and an air boat sat floating in dirty water next to the dock. We walked around for a moment, then shrugged and walked back to the covered patio with everyone.

The patio was really divided into two parts, the first under the cover was the reunion party, with a small bar in the corner and chick bartenders that looked barely old enough to drive, much less serve alcohol. There was a rope splitting the patio, with the other side being an open dining area for the regular patrons, and a small stage where a band called... "The DTs"? "The Deets"?... played. If you or your husband is 30+ and feels the need to play guitar on the weekends with some other dudes and sing cover songs at a bar for tips, then you could have been in the DTs. First song they played? "Hard to Handle" by The Black Crowes.

DeLisa was having trouble with the laptop she brought, as it was supposed to loop a long video showing high school pictures and such, so DeNick saved the day and got it working. Meanwhile, I sat at the table, free Coke in hand (soft drinks were free, beer was $3 a pop, mixed drinks were at least $5), when I looked over and saw The Lovely Steph Leann's camera. I looked around and saw her talking to someone I obviously didn't know, so I opened up her camera case and took a few shots. I put the camera strap around my neck, and took a few more.

And thus, it began.

Somehow, over the course of the evening, I unofficially became the official photographer. Heck, it occupied my time and kept me busy. I would take candid shots of people at tables, snapshots of people looking at the memorabilia, the food, the bar, the ramp to the dock which somehow became the smoker's paradise cancer ward of the reunion, people drinking, people hugging, people dancing and everything in between. I had on a name tag that said "d$" in large print, and under it, it said (The Lovely Stephanie Campbell), so everyone who know who I belonged to, so I didn't think anything about it.

That is, until DeLisa came up to me and told me people were asking about my photography. Nervous that perhaps I had invaded someone's space, I asked what she was talking about, and DeLisa laughed that some people thought that perhaps I was hired for the night, and many were wondering when and how they would get to see all the pictures I was taking. I kinda smiled, a little bewildered and... well, just kept on taking pictures.

Lynn came to me and asked me about a group shot, and if we should do it in the band's next break, or wait a little longer for more people to arrive (by now it was a good 90 minutes or more into the festivities).

"Well, I would do it the next band break. Most people are here already, and those who aren't should be--their loss. The big problem is, if you wait much later, you're going to lose people who will start leaving early." She asked me, as if I was a professional photographer, where we should take it. Really, I had no clue which area would be the best--do we take it with the sunset in the background, but run the risk of it washing out the faces? Or do we move it to the other side, and run the risk of being too dark? I mean, who am I, Lesley Foley of Lesley Foley Photography? Finally, I pointed out a clear area next to the railing, by the bar. "Move that table, and everyone can gather there."

The band took a break, and Lynn and I started gathering people up. We herded everyone together, and though significant others and spouses all had cameras ready to take group pictures, I stood atop a bar stool with the camera. DeNick and I shouted out instructions... "move in a little more!"... "you, in the blue shirt, move over a little bit"... "need the front row to kneel a little bit!"... "I'm going to take three pictures, starting on the count of three!"

Somehow, it worked.


The Baker High School Class of 1994... or some of them, anyway...

Later in the evening, I sat down for a small plate of cold chicken fingers and lukewarm ranch dressing, and not too long after, was Baker Class of 94 member Cameron Lee joining me, with his pretty--and very pregnant wife--Amanda (I think?). Cameron asked me, "You done taking pictures already?"

"Nah, I'll probably take a few more. Just taking them for my wife, figured she's too busy to do it." I replied.

"Well," Cameron said, "I call your bluff on that one. You've been busy with that camera all night. Aren't you a photographer?"

"Ha!" I laughed. "I mean, who am I, Lesley Foley of Foley Photography, serving the Florida Panhandle and Southern Alabama, contact 850-543-7407? No, I'm just taking them for my wife The Lovely Steph Leann."

We chatted for a little while longer, then I got up and did what I was doing best for the evening--took more pictures. I was in line getting The Lovely Steph Leann a drink, and two girls turned around and said, "Oh, get our picture!", so I took it. This sort of happened all evening, as I would lift the camera, some, if not all, of my intended targets would pose, or smile or whatever.


The Lovely Steph Leann, DeLisa and a few others laugh up the old days.

Met a guy named Shannon, later, as he talked to The Lovely Steph Leann. They were friends in high school, along with a chick named Tina, and I guess another girl named Raina, and Shannon told me he thought I was the photographer, and was surprised to find I was merely Stephanie's husband.


This chick gets the award for "Most Perky Beer Koozy of the Night"

Now, while all the photo-snapping was going on, lest you think I abandoned DeNick. Quite the opposite, actually... he was my go-to guy for one liners and cracks. We had developed a habit of observing people as they came in, and going to the yearbook and seeing how much they changed... the following is a few things we observed over the course of the night:

"Those aren't real."
"I checked her photo. She's pretty hot now, especially since she got her eyebrows under control."
"Time has not been good to him."
"Time has not been good to her."
"Wow... time has been that guy's friend, I think."
"Dude, time has been very, very good to her."

And my favorite exchange of the night:

DeNick: That chick's top... not many people can do a top like that, but she managed to pull it off.
Me: I'm sure a few more beers and thats exactly what she'll do
DeNick (leaning over, trying not to choke on his $3 brew)

A few more observations from the night...

**Christy Turner gets the "Most Improved Award", tied with Ashley Sossaman. Both went from cute in their yearbook pics to hot 15 years later.

**At least at the beginning, the group covered the room like this... the really attractive girls and guys were over on one side in a huddle. The not quite as attractive girls and guys were on the other side. The black couple sat alone at a table. Ahhh, just like high school.

**The lone black couple were very, very nice. They sat for the entire evening, just enjoying the food and conversing with whoever sat down with them for however long they were sitting, but they were really great to talk to.

**Talked to one girl--and I'll be vague--and she was telling me, "See this chick walking in right now? Let me tell you..." and she proceeded to tell me some of the unnice things that had happened. When the offending chick walked in, she and the girl hugged tightly, squealed each others names, and hugged again. When offensive chick walked away, the girl came back to me, and said, "...like I was saying...". I don't get you women.

**I was trying to take a picture through the crowd of a chick named Shelly. I had the perfect shot, and right as I snapped the button, she picked her fork up with a big chunk of food on it. The flash went off, she looked up and gave me the stink eye. I held my hands up and mouthed "sorry!" No more pictures of Shelly for the night.

**As in most reunions, there is at least one that didn't make it for other reasons than "didn't want to come". Such was the case with Chris Mason, who apparently lost his life in military service. They had a small table set up with his picture, a letter from Dubya and some other small items. Made me smile when DeNick looked at it, had a disgusted look on his face, then picked up an empty beer bottle from sitting on the table. "They can leave it next to the cake, but don't leave your trash on this table. That's not right."

**Random observation... no matter the length of time, sometimes bitterness doesn't die. Just sayin'.

**There was one guy not in the Class of 94 that made me grab DeNick and say, "Check this out! Ron Jeremy is here!" He wasn't Ron Jeremy, but he had a 70s porn fro' and a great 70s porn 'stache if I ever saw one... not that I really ever have, mind you, but the stereotype is there for a reason.


This pic doesn't do it justice.

We were set to leave, it was late, most had already gone and as we meandered out the door, I had a few people ask me how to find the pictures. I told them they needed to be The Lovely Steph Leann's friend on Facebook.

Mandy Blansett sat on a bench near the front of the restaurant, and as we were working our way through, she said, "Thank you for taking pictures tonight!" I had already been hugged for such activities by a girl named Raina, who was very pleased to also have met me, though I cannot remember at any time talking to her before she hugged me. I smiled at Mandy and said, "You're welcome. It was fun."

"How much are they paying you?" she asked.

I looked at The Lovely Steph Leann, who just smiled. "They didn't pay me," I replied. "I'm just taking pictures for Stephanie, because she was too busy to do it."

"Really? Wow! I thought surely they had hired someone like you to do it!"

"I mean, who am I, Lesley Foley of Foley Photography, who's website can be found here?" I asked. "Nope, just taking some pictures at will."

Then a discussion opened up between Mandy and The Lovely Steph Leann, who is a Creative Memories Consultant and can be found here online.

So that's the Baker High School Class of 94 Reunion in a nutshell. Met some fun people that won't remember me tomorrow, took some pictures, ate some cold chicken fingers and had a great weekend with The Lovely Steph Leann, hanging out with DeNick and DeLisa... two truly wonderful people that we don't see enough of.

FYI... Lesley Foley is a friend of The Lovely Steph Leann and DeLisa, and by extension, a friend of mine and DeNick's, and runs a very successful photography business, and I joked about how I was afraid for Lesley to see my pictures as I am not a good photographer, nor do I use a Nikon... so I thought I would throw some shout-outs to her and her business for fun. If you are in the panhandle, check her site out--she's pretty good.


Lesley the Photographer

FYII... If you are on Facebook and reading this, search "Clouds in My Coffee" and join the fanpage. I'm on my way to 100, and I want to see how many people I can get before The Lovely Steph Leann actually joins. DeLisa is a member, as is Lesley Foley of Foley Photography, which you can email at lesley@foleyphotography.com... and if you email her at the site, make sure you answer the question "how did you find me?" with "I had some dreams, they were Clouds In My Coffee, Clouds In My Coffee..." My advice is to stop the song there, though. Keep going and she might not call you back.

Dave & DeNick's Treasure Hunting (Reunion I)

This is the first part of a few posts chronicling my weekend in Mobile, Alabama...

As reported before, I headed to Mobile this past weekend with The Lovely Steph Leann, and our friends DeNick and DeLisa. It seems that somehow, someway, we always end up spending the weekend with them out of town, be it a friends gathering a few years ago, a Disney World trip last fall, and now this, but it always works out.

The Lovely Steph Leann and DeLisa were graduates of Baker High School in 1994, and this was the 15th anniversary of that very same class. DeLisa had been heavily involved in planning this reunion, and The Lovely Steph Leann was along for the ride... which meant that spouses like myself and DeNick were also along for the ride.

We left Friday afternoon around 4pm, and had an uneventful ride down--I say "uneventful" because I slept for the first two hours of it. We did stop at Steak-n-Shake in Prattville, upon my suggestion because, really, I love some Steak-n-Shake. I wish there was one here in Birmingham, but part of me is glad, because some of the appeal might wear off--I've not been to Whataburger nearly as much as I thought I would now that they are in town.

But boy do I miss Denny's.

Anyway, we were staying at DeLisa's parents house to which we arrived around 9p or so, unloaded, and then had cake, chatted it up with DeMom and spent 45 minutes watching the sonogram video of DeNick & DeLisa's baby coming soon. She's due in January. I got to watch a little Dateline NBC, always a good time.

The reunion party wasn't until 6pm the next evening, so the subject of "What are we going to do tomorrow" came up, and DeLisa and The Lovely Steph Leann had their answer. They were going to go get chicked out with one of those mani-pedi type mornings at a place that does such things.

My version of a manicure is when I bite the fingernail of my index finger. Done. DeNick also had no desire for such things, so we chatted for a moment about what we could do for the morning. DeLisa said, "You should go to Hudson's." I looked at her, then to DeNick and asked, "What's Hudson's?"

A smile crept across DeNick's face. Essentially, he explained, its this big store that has tons and tons of random closeout things, of all types, sizes, prices and so on. Kind of like Big Lots, I say, and both DeNick and DeLisa shake their heads. No, better (worse?) that Big Lots.

"I'm in," I say immediately. You know you are a blogger when you look for opportunities to take pictures and discuss the strange places you go.

The next morning, The Lovely Steph Leann was already at breakfast, ready to get her chick on with DeLisa, before I was even fully awake. I figured I'd shower later (which I did), and was pleasantly surprised at what DeDad had cooked up... biscuits, eggs, bacon and cheese grits, which were delish to the core--I had two big helpings of such.

Finally, the girls were gone and the boys headed to Hudson's Treasure Hunt. And of course, I took some pictures...


Here's Hudson's, right off of... Schillengers? It was in a shopping center next to a Dollar General, which, let me tell ya, where EVA-REE-WHERE.


In case you want to look like Mary-Kate... or Ashley... whichever's which... you can buy their hair care products! Oh, and don't eat for three days and smoke like a chimney. That would do it.


I don't know that I can come up with a price that I wouldn't pay, or at least consider, to see The Lovely Steph Leann wear a pair of pants like these, even for a brief moment.


Don't be deceived by this aisle. Despite the fact there were a 1,000 DVDs here, there were many of the same ones, so you had about 15 titles to choose from. They were all $4.99 though, so it was tempting to purchase the entire first season of Gene Simmons Family Jewels.


Let me be clear... if this ever ends up on our shelves in The Cabana, call the police. Because if this is in our house, that means that The Lovely Steph Leann is dead, and if you didn't hear me talk about it, then I had something to do with her disappearance. Thats the only way this would ever make it in our home. And if you decide to give us this for a gift, even a gag gift, she WILL throw it away. Just sayin'.


So, if you are looking at your shopping list, and it says Advil, hair scrunchies, triple A batteries, Coca-cola flavored lip balm, gift wrap tape dispensers AND condoms, then not only can you get it all at Hudson's Treasure Hunt, you can get it all standing IN THE SAME SPOT! What convenience!!

We finished up our walking around at Hudson's, which also included tours of the hardware that featured $124 dollar hammers--why would you ever need a hammer that cost more than $20?--and axes that not only had the blade plastic cover missing, but were on the bottom shelf for your child's easy reaching and DeNick bought a few things and I bought a cheap flashlight for the car.

We were back in the truck we were riding in and were heading back to DeMom's house, when DeNick pipes up, "Hey! I just remembered... if you think that was bad, there's another place down the road called Hudson's Dirt Cheap."

First of all, any place with the words "Dirt" and "Cheap" in them--done. I'm all about it. I shared this sentiment with my riding buddy, and we turned the Trooper around and headed thataway.

I figured out that Hudson's Treasure Hunt was like Big Lots threw up. And if that place was Big Lots throwing up, then Hudson's Dirt Cheap was Big Lots squatting and take a huge crap. This place was reeeeeediculous... piles of junk everywhere. Anywhere. The shelves were dirty, the items were opened, broken, strewn about, the packages were sometimes empty, and there was the most random assortment of crap you could possibly imagine.



And the crazy thing was, the place was packed. There was a ton of people walking the aisles, picking stuff up, ready to purchase.

There was a lady near the front on the phone, sifting through a big cardboard bin of makeup supplies and such, and I heard her say, "Yeah, they've got dozens of shades here, like, 3 for a dollar! Would you like me to pick you up some?" And then she turned to the littler girl next to her, swatted the hand, and said, "Don't you dare put that anywhere near your mouth!"


They had plenty of toiletry items here, including a seat. And no, I didn't stage this picture by putting this on the shelf. DeNick saw me taking a picture of it, and said plainly, "Now THAT... I wouldn't touch." Touche.


This is one of my worst fears. I write a book that I'm very proud of, hopefully you will all buy and enjoy, and some years later, I find it on the shelves of Hudson's Dirt Cheap. I might have to walk into traffic.


A couple of things to notice about this picture... first, the yellow tag on the shelf. That would be a Wal Mart tag. And many of the shelves had Wal Mart yellow price stickers on them, as in, Hudson's Dirt Cheap hadn't even bothered to clean the shelves off. Secondly, notice the price tag actually on this box of crayons... it says $4.99. It was on a 50% off shelf, so for about $2.50, you are getting a rather attractive box of 120 Crayola Premium Crayons. Heck, it even says "Surprise Inside!" So open the box and...


...surprise! A bunch of used, broken and missing crayons! What a deal!


Be honest... if you are brave enough to buy the clothes, how many of you are brave enough to venture into the Changing Coops dressing rooms?

Finally, DeNick and I had about all the Hudson's Bargain hunting we could stand, and once again, was heading to DeLisa's parents home, when once again, DeNick piped up, "Hey, you know what else is around here? The flea market!"

So, off we went. It was nearing noon by this time, and we knew our respective chicks were probably close to being done with their chicked out morning, so we figured we would swing in and just take a look around.


Suffice to say, as far as hilarity ensuing, it was just eh. Actually, it was quite organized... while neither one of us found a whole lot we were interested in purchasing, we were quite impressed by the way it was laid out. It was clean, it had a wide variety of things for sale--movies, music, comics, clothes, knick knacks, paddywhacks, the dogs and the bones--and I even paid 50 cent for disc one of WWE Raw Is War 15th Anniversary Collection.

There were lots of animals here for sale including...


...chickens for $10. Seriously, it was almost worth ten dollars to see the look on The Lovely Steph Leann's face when I came back with a rooster in a cage. I didn't do it, however, because as priceless as that look might be, and as much enjoyment as DeNick would get out of it, I would then have a chicken I'd have to do something with, and I'd have a very annoyed wife to deal with later. Just not worth it. Almost, but not quite.

We finished up, and headed back to DeMom's house, and this time, DeNick had nothing else to toss in there. I took a shower when we arrived, DeNick headed out to the pier behind the house and we waiting for the chicks to come back, which they did.

We had lunch at Baudean's, a pretty decent if somewhat overpriced seafood joint down the road, and then just relaxed for the afternoon. The Lovely Steph Leann got in a nap, as did I, before we got up and prepared to face The Class of 1994.

Everything That Glitters

"She says she hates to sleep alone, but she'll do it tonight. She wants to grab her telephone, but she knows it ain't right. So if he won't call, she'll survive, and if he don't care, she'll get by. Climb into bed, bury her head, and cry... She says she feels like she's addicted to a real bad thing, always sitting, waiting, wondering if the phone will ring, she knows she bounces like a yo-yo when he pulls her string... it hurts to feel like such a fool." -- "Addicted", my 5th favorite Dan Seals song

Dan Seals passed away March 25th, 2009, of mantle cell lymphoma. Apparently he'd been suffering from it for a while... and it makes me sad. I really liked Dan Seals. And I felt that you, the reader, should know him. Like the music, don't like the music, but his career and success is respectable.

The name might not be familiar, and if you are not a longtime country fan, its likely you would have never heard of Dan Seals. However, you are a 70s soft rock pop fan, you might be familiar with England Dan and John Ford Coley... same Dan.

Dan was born in 1948 close to Dallas, Texas, where he went to school. His brother, Jim Seals, played saxophone on The Champs' immortal "Tequila", and eventually teamed up with Dash Seals in the 60s to form the band Seals & Croft ("...summer breeze... makes me feel fine... blowin' through the jasmine in my mind..." or "darlin' if you want me to be... closer to you... get closer to me..."), his other brother Brady spent some time in Little Texas ("ooh... God blessed Texas..."), and then Dan joined with classmate and friend John Colley to form England Dan and John Ford Coley.


Here's a performance of my 4th favorite Dan Seals song, the classic made with John Ford Coley

Colley shortened his last name by a letter to Coley, then added the "Ford" as his middle name to help with the pronunciation flow. "England" was a childhood nickname born out of his love for the Beatles, so England Dan and John Ford Coley became a duo.

Their hits in the 70s were numerous, including "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight", "Nights are Forever Without You" and "We'll Never Have to Say Goodbye Again". All in all, they had 6 Top 40 hits between 1976 and 1979, before eventually parting ways. John Ford Coley actually became a Christ Follower in 1999, still performs with some 70s groups that won't go away (you know, groups like Ambrosia and Poco) probably at county fairs and small town festivals that like like say "Hey, come to our event... we have The Edgar Winter Group! Live in concert!"

Dan Seals tried his soft rock solo career in 1980, signing with Atlantic Records and releasing his first album, "Stones", as England Dan. He ended up in a struggle with the IRS, almost lost everything, then started over with his album "Harbinger". Like "Stones", this album was a commercial failure, charting no singles and selling few copies. Dan Seals rethought his approach, then began to adapt his style for the country side of things...

"I just had to call you babe, I got your letter and I understood almost every line. You said TLC is what you miss from me, you want back in my arms PDQ. Ooh, I love this game, them three letters by your name, LOA. What does that say? She said oh baby it's so simple, did not mean to make it hard to understand. I've been gone so long I want you to know I miss my man oh yes I do. And that message for you tells you what I'm gonna do when I get home oh..." -- "Love On Arrival", my 3rd favorite Dan Seals song

Country in the mid-80s was much different than what we know today. The country rockin' style of artists like Rascal Flatts, Kenny Chesney, The Dixie Chicks and even Carrie Underwood was unheard of, Garth Brooks had yet to transform the genre, and it was two sided.

First, there are the immortal artists, those that will never grow old, those that now perhaps their legendary status and reputation possibly surpass much of their music's quality itself... The Highwaymen (Cash, Jennings, Nelson, Kristofferson), Merle Haggard, Hank Jr..

Then you had the softer country side that were artists like Marie Osmond, the Judds, Don Williams, Eddie Rabbitt... these were artists that would likely never get much airtime nowadays aside from some sort of "classic country" hour at noon or on Saturday nights. Back then? They were the Chesney, Paisley, Urban, Swift of the day. And it was in this genre that Dan Seals found his niche.

Dan Seal's first album for Capitol Records, where he signed after leaving Atlantic, was called "Rebel Heart", and though it wasn't a blockbuster, it did much better than his first two pop albums. Next was "San Antone", in 1984, where he finally started seeing some chart success, first with "(You Bring Out) the Wild Side of Me" and "My Baby's Got Good Timing"--classic country song titles.

His biggest success came in 1985's "Won't Be Blue Anymore", and one of his biggest hits came when he teamed with Marie Osmond for "Meet Me In Montana", the first of 9 straight number one country hits. "Bop" came next, was a number one single, and won Single of the Year at 1986's CMA Awards.

The singles came, as did the success, classics like "You Still Move Me", "Addicted", "They Rage On", "One Friend" and a song perhaps written about Samson, "Big Wheels in the Moonlight"... "I came from a town that was so small, if you looked both ways you could see it all..."

Dan Seals released "On Arrival" in 1990, and it produced the number one singles "Love on Arrival" and "Good Times", a remake of the Sam Cooke R&B classic. This was his final success in an album, and these were his last Top 40 singles.

(Marie) "Well were stuck here in these hills that they call mountains. (Dan) Darlin' back home in your arms is right where I want to be. (Marie & Dan) Won't you meet me in Montana... I wanna see the mountains your eyes. I had all of this life I can handle, meet me underneath that big Montana sky... " -- "Meet Me In Montana" by Dan Seals & Marie Osmond, my 2nd favorite Dan Seals song

Dan Seals soft, guitar plucky style was suddenly out of favor by the early 90s, giving way to the Garth Brooks kind of country music... not that this was a bad thing, mind you, but country was changing. No one wanted to hear Don Williams, Juice Newton, Earl Thomas Conley, John Conlee... or Dan Seals.

He signed with Warner Brothers, released "Walking the Wire" and "Fired Up", did an acoustic album of his earlier hits on "In a Quiet Room" for Intersound, then released a few more albums for TDC Records.

Dan Seals suffered from mantle cell lymphoma (MCL), one of the rarer of non-Hodgkins lymphomas, rare enough that there are only about 15,000 patients presently in the U.S. He had radiation treatments in June of 2008 and even received a stem cell transplant in December of last year, but eventually, the MCL won out. On March 25th, 2009, Dan Seals lost his life, passing away quietly at his daughter's home. He was 61.

And here's my favorite Dan Seals song... its from the album "Won't Be Blue Anymore", and its all about a rodeo rider, trying to raise a daughter on his own after his wife has apparently left them for brighter lights and bigger arenas...


Ten albums in a duo, and seventeen solo albums, along with six different "best of" compilations, thats work on 33 different albums. That, my fellow music lovers, is a career. Thank you, Dan Seals, for making my country music childhood enjoyable with your music and your love of such, and though I'll be honest, I thought "Bop" was rather silly, so much of your music makes me sing along and makes me smile.



When it comes to Dan Seals, everything that glitters truly is gold.

samson blog part IV: memories on highway 52

Working at The Happiest Place in the Mall affords me the chance to sometimes see people I haven't seen in years. I have seen many of my college mates come through the doors, each looking for some magic, and a few from elsewhere (including a run in with Shay Oliver, to which I had to apologize for the visit). Tonight? Beth Edison came through the doors. Haven't seen her in about, I dunno, 17 years? She still looks the same, just a few years older.

We also had a prom group come through tonight, and that gave me a great idea for a post later... prom nights. Four proms, three dates, many stories. But that's later. For now, here's the end of my daylong visit to Samson, Alabama. This actually appears on pages 9 thru 12 of the original document I wrote it on, which is why I had to break it up into four parts. Its been a fun column to write, though. Anyway, here's the previous posts, then the finale....

Samson Blog Part I: "...Knee High to a Puddle Duck"
Samson Blog Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books
Samson Blog Part III: High School Highs... and Lows

PART IV... MEMORIES ON HIGHWAY 52


At 7:30, I turned onto Highway 52, and headed out of Samson, toward Geneva, back from the direction I had already come. I had told Sandy Wright hours earlier that I would stop by her parent’s house and say hello, so when I came upon their county road, I turned right. It was paved, but only slightly… the Wright home is a house I’d been to many, many times as a teenager, both visiting and working. Sometimes I would just hang out with Cristie, other times I would help Forrest paint or clean or whatever, and he paid well. The restaurant closed some years after I started college, but the Wrights own a florist & gift shop in Geneva, and he does, or at least did at one point, sell fencing and siding.

So when I came to the Wright home, imagine my surprise when I couldn’t get in. They have a long white fence that wraps around the property, with a small driveway that I parked in. There was a gate. An immovable gate that I had no clue how to approach. Granted, I could have easily ducked between the wide spaces in the fencing, but the last time I was here, they had a couple of Dalmatians that were the size of Toni Rocky Honda, so I stood for a few minutes, staring at the house. Do I honk the horn? Do I duck under the fence and make a run for it, hoping the Spawn of Spotted Dog doesn’t chase me down and maul me? What do I do? It’s about 7:50 now, the light is fading, so who knows if they even recognize me?

Finally, I decided I would just leave a note. I grabbed a Sharpie, cause you know I lurves me some Sharpies and Toni Rocki Honda contains about 30, and scribbled down:

Forrest & Charlotte

Stopped by to see you both. Didn’t know how to enter the Wright Fortress. Hope you are well, hope to see you soon.

d$

I wheeled Toni Rocki Honda to their mailbox, opened it, put my note in, and left. There was one more stop to make, really, in my Samson excursion… Wal-Mart, though it was actually in Geneva. My purpose was singular… I wanted to walk the store front to back, side to side, and count the paces. Then I wanted to compare it with the Wal-Mart down the street from The Cabana on 280. Back to front, the Geneva Wal-Mart was 73 paces. Side to side, its 103. I’m not joking. And the Wal-Mart closes, which in a city that has about six of them within a fifteen mile radius that stay open 24-7, is unfathomable.

Finally, it was time to go. Through Geneva, back through Enterprise and up to Troy, where I made a quick stop at the FarmHouse Fraternity house to drop off a paddle that was given to me years and years ago by my big brother there… it was time the paddle found a home in the house. Met some of the guys, watched a few minutes of the NCAA championship game, shook some hands and then I was out.

My last stop before home was in Prattville at Steak-n-Shake… I wasn’t even that hungry, having eaten hours before, but I got a small burger, fries and a milkshake… because its Steak-n-Shake, and I never get a chance to go there. Truly, I miss Denny’s, but I do love some SNS.

My day in Samson was wonderful, not made so by any particular part of it, but by the combination of well wishes, familiar faces and throwbacks to days when it was so simple. I think everyone thinks to themselves how they would do it if they could go back, knowing now what you know. I would think I’d be the coolest guy in school, because honestly I wouldn’t care. Lord knows I’d have better fashion sense, and I’d probably have a change of clothes in my locker to put on as soon as I got to school.

As simple as it seems, though, I am truly blessed to be sitting here in front of my laptop, sitting on a wooden TV tray, which is sitting on an expensive designer rug, sprawled out in front of our leather couches, in a living room directly under the bedroom where the most wonderful, beautiful woman I’ve ever known is sleeping peacefully. All of this is in The Cabana, our house we bought last year, sitting close to a major highway in our town, which means we’re close to everything, including both jobs that we possess and love.

I do have a new found love for my hometown of Samson, and one day, maybe in a few decades, though still probably never, I might go back. Maybe with The Lovely Steph Leann in 2020, maybe as a widower in 2061. And I do have a love for the people I left behind, be it Chris McCall or my other two Samson BFFs Tonya and Greg, and friends like Jason Howell (who I’m dying to spend some more time with) and Rona Mock and her husband Ryan (who I’m going to call for dinner in the next two weeks) and especially my mom, who will most certainly die in this town, probably in the next few years. I’ve already decided I’m going to make it a more frequent trip, perhaps once every two months, maybe once per month during football season…

..but in all my remembering where I come from, I’ll be careful not to forget where I am now. And where I am right now is the most blessed place I could be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna click this laptop off and go upstairs and sleep next to The Lovely Steph Leann.

(one more authors note... when I finish and publish a post, which usually takes me forever, as The Lovely Steph Leann can attest, I read it on the actual website itself, usually to make sure it flows and posts correctly, is spaced correctly, et al. Tonight as I did this for Part IV, my website playlist played "When I Get Where I'm Going" by Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton. I thought it was kinda cool. Course, if this were 1993, "You Don't Bring Me Anything But Down" might've sufficed for my dinner guest. Ha!!)

Thanks for reading.

Samson Blog Part III: High School Highs... and Lows

Thanks for coming back--I've already stopped off in Troy, visited Jennifer, run into a few old faces that I recognized and now its time to run into another, and re-visit the school that taught me how to... well, do whatever it is that high schools teach. Previous posts include...

Samson Blog Part I: "...Knee High to a Puddle Duck"
Samson Blog Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books

PART III... HIGH SCHOOL HIGHS.. and lows


The brick sign that wasn't there when I was there

Back when I was in school, there was a middle school and a high school, though the lines between the two were very blurred. The building on the south part of the school was primarily junior high (at what point did they stop being called junior high and start only going as “middle school”? Is “junior high” a bad thing? Really?) leaving the north part as the high school, but the ball field was shared by both, the small business building in the middle was shared by both, the recess yard was shared by both…. Really, it was all one big school, 6th grade through 12th. Maybe 600 students. Might be more, might be less.

Some number of years ago, though, they built a new Middle School and placed it next to Samson Elementary, which was building in 1984. I only know this because I moved there in 4th grade, and it was just opened the previous month. We couldn’t lean on the walls, it was so new. Imagine telling a bunch of 9 year olds you can’t lean on the walls. Right.



With the middle school gone, Samson High School truly is just a high school. As I walked onto Broad Street, I noticed that a couple of the buildings where there, and a few were now gone… I can only guess they were gutted and torn down, probably a good thing. I walked onto the sidewalk that runs in front of the entire school, walking slowly to observe. Another teacher had just come out of one of the buildings, and said, “Can I help you with something?” I smiled and said, “No, thanks. I’m an alumnus, and I’m just checking out the school.” I added with a grin, “I thought it best to wait until all the students were out, so as not to be that creepy guy wandering around the campus.” She smiled and said, “Good idea.”

I stopped in front of the Samson High sign to snap a few pictures, and noticed a familiar face up ahead. She was with a young boy, and she moved between a furniture delivery truck and another group of people. I slowly made my way past the group, snapping more photos of the surrounding school monuments and scenery, but kept glancing up at her. Is that…? I mean, could that be…?

She said something to the group, they all chuckled, and she led the boy inside the school doors. I followed her, but when I went inside, she had already disappeared into the next set of double doors. Another teacher was there, looked up and asked, “Can I help you, sir?” I stopped, not taking my eyes off of the door, pointed and said, “Was that Renee?” She smiled and said, “Yes! Go through these doors and take a right. Mrs. Adams is on the left, you’ll see her door.”

Mrs. Adams? I thanked the kind lady and went through the doors. The school, for all its differences, still had the same look in the hallway. The floor was different, the lockers were bigger, the paint was newer, but this… this was Samson High School. I walked toward the first door, and saw the placard that said “Mrs. R. ADAMS”. I stared at the door for a minute, and then thought, “Holy crap, she’s a teacher.”

“So, uh, you got your name on the door and everything, huh? Think your somebody?” I asked, as I stood in the doorway, pointing toward the sign. Renee Carroll looked up from her desk, glared at me for a few seconds, then her face brightened. “Oh my gosh… d$!” she stood up, ran over to me and gave me a big hug.

Renee Carroll and I go way back, to… 1991? She was an 8th grader, I was a senior, and her step-father, Steve, worked as an excellent cook at The Wright Place Restaurant. Her mom, Carlene, also worked there for a time, and Renee washed dishes and helped out too. She had a crush on me. I don’t say that in vain, or in an arrogant assumption, I say that because she told me so. And as gently as I could, I told her I wasn’t interested in her. She didn’t talk to me for a month. I also remember she was obsessed with country group Alabama.

She looked great, her son Ryan is now 7 (or was it 9?), and she’s a teacher now at Samson High School. She has been teaching there for a while now, teaching all subjects to all grades at this point. Renee told me that there were plans for a memorial garden to be built behind the main school building, right outside her window, in honor of the victims of March 10th. We chatted a while longer, what I’d been up to, teachers that had come and gone (Mrs. Hutchison is retiring, it seems!) and who was still there. Mrs. Danley was still there. A few others had gone. Some had died.

We discussed Samson, how it was different, how it was the same, and Renee said the most amazing thing was that when she came back to teach, she went into the lunchroom… and it was so small! “I remember it being so much bigger, and now, it’s like, tiny. It was bizarre.”

It was great talking to her for a little while, and finally, we said our goodbyes. Who knows if and when I’ll see Renee Carroll Adams again? Hopefully soon.

I left the classroom, and as I rounded the corner, I locked eyes with Mrs. Danley. On her face was the now-familiar “Is that…?” expression, but I didn’t stop. I smiled and kept walking, right on out the back door of the main building, finding myself in front of the lunchroom. And as I peered into the window (it was locked), I could see a few new additions, notably a big cooler that said “DASANI” on it. But the big tiger painted on the wall was still there. And Renee was right… it was tiny. Did I really sit and have milk carton drink-offs with Chad Ward and Greg Avant right there? Unbelievably so. And there, on the opposite outside door of the lunchroom is the area that the freshman girls congregated—Chris McCall’s obsession Andrea Foreman, my first slow dance ever Angiejay (in this very lunchroom, by the way, but more on her in a minute), Manda Donaldson, Jennifer Herndon (yes, that one) and Stephanie Sheffield.

That slow dance was weird. It was, in fact, with Angiejay, who agreed to be my homecoming dance date, then bowed out because word spread all over school that we were going out. We danced to “Wanted” by Alan Jackson, and looking back, I think she did so because she felt obliged to do so, not because she wanted to. We were dancing close to Ryan Frary and Stephanie Sheffield, who were going out at the time, and Ryan leaned over and yanked my hand down to Angiejay’s bum. Luckily, I yanked it back in time to save the embarrassment, and though Stephanie smacked him, Ryan thought it was hilarious. Looking back, I do too.

Laughing to myself as I remember this monumental moment, I went down the sidewalk through the campus, passing the gymnasium, home of the 2 time defending girl’s basketball team, the Lady Tigers. The further I walk, though, the more I realize that yes, there is a new high school building… but most everything else on the grounds is exactly the same. I walk between the science building, where Mr. Holmes tried in vain to teach me Physics and Chemistry, and the Ag/Home Ec building, where I won top grade prizes for like, four straight terms…. In Home Ec, not Ag.

I stopped at the bandroom, and boy those memories came back as well. Renee told me that the last time the band was really, really strong was when we were in school. When I was a sophomore, we were 70+ strong, 6th through 12th grade, but over the years, the band has dwindled. It’s had it shares of highs and lows, but right now it was at a low point. Sad, really. The Blue and Gold rocked back in the day.


It was on those railings on the sidewalk leading to the door on the right that, in October of 1992, I waited outside for Angiejay, after the Homecoming Ballgame. She said already said yes a few nights ago. Then she sent someone (Tracy Lassiter?) out to tell me that "she would just meet me there". I was crushed. Am I still bitter? Not at all, it was 17 years ago, but its still fun to talk about. And the fact she rejected me on Facebook last year makes it all the more fun. Hence, the decision to make Angie Jay a villian in the book. Ha!

The tennis courts sat across the street. Samson was always too small to have a tennis team, but we did have courts. During my sophomore year, I became infatuated with Jennifer Capriati, a young tennis star, so I bought myself a 18 dollar racket (a huge sum when you are 15) and taught myself how to play tennis. Over the course of that year, I lost about 30 pounds, gained much leg strength and went through two pairs of tennis shoes—wore a hole slap into the soles of them. See, our court wasn’t grass, or clay or even a regular hard court, our court was asphalt and gravel. And there was a big sand pit right in the middle that you would slide through if you weren’t careful. The back fence was about four feet from the back baseline, so there was lots of slamming into the chain links, and the net was such that you had to hook it back onto the posts when you played. Sometimes the ball would go through the gap between the netting and the white border, so you had to argue over whether it was actually a Let or not. (you can read more of this, and some of the same, in a post from June 2006 called "Game Set Match", if you feel so inclined)

By my junior year, there were lots of people playing. I’d like to think I was at least partly responsible for the tennis resurgence from 1991 to 1993. Names like Ryan Hutchison, Juice Williams, Jason Lambert, Wade Rials, Bren Finch, and of course, Ryan Frary and myself—the Federer and Nadal of our day. For two years, we were gods of the court. Every single day, until the light was gone, and even then sometimes into the night, using the one single yellow light that shone on half the court. The summer between my junior and senior year, I collected $5 from 16 court regulars, bought some paint, went out in the hot July sun and painted lines on the court. Then we had ourselves a tennis tournament. And it was a beautiful thing.


You can barely see the yellow of the lines that were painted all those years ago. Some of the weeds might be the exact same, though. But this is the court we played on.

Now? The lines are faded away. The dirt is piled high in various parts of the court, the fence has bigger holes in it than before, the weeds grow tall through the asphalt, the post has an old plastic cup on top of it, and the net is nowhere to be found. Doesn’t matter, though, because where the net would go is taken up by a big greenhouse nursery sitting smack in the middle of the court. A messily handwritten note on the door of the greenhouse said, “If you need plants, call…”


The abomination that sits on our courts. Ryan (can't remember if it was Frary or Hutchison) and I actually scheduled a meeting and went to the mayor, asking for the council to look at devoting some money to renovate the tennis courts. There were only three courts and a few thousand tax dollars would be all that was needed to put up new nets, fix the light(s) and give it a light touch-up. They rejected us out of hand.

Sighing, and a piece of my soul now dead on that court with the knowledge that there would probably never be another Snuff City Invitational Tennis Classic, I walked back to the campus, and entered the football stadium. It was here on this very field that I graduated high school, coming now upon 16 years ago. They put in metal bleachers sometime around my junior year, maybe a year earlier, but that’s just for the home side. The visitors still have the old concrete bleachers, and they still look exactly the same.

I walk around the football field, past the concession stand that sits boarded up for the offseason, and just take it all in. Lots of memories here too. Marching saxophone in the band, chomping on stadium burgers and $1 M&M bags, sitting with Jason Howell and ALL of the guys admired Claudia Sorrells was in her majorette uniform, enjoying those late October/ early November Friday nights when the temperature is around 45 degrees… is there anything better than high school football in cold temperatures? Sipping on watered down hot chocolate that burns your tongue?

The grass is about six inches too high now, this being the offseason and daily care not necessary. Its Alva Hawke Stadium, though I have yet to figure out who Alva Hawke is. And I still don’t know the alma mater song, though I can reel off that fight song. Or could, at one time. There is a ton of junk piled under the bleachers—stadium lights, wood, trash, a small hauling trailer—and it just looks messy. I smile as I stand next to the chain link fence, a fence that 16 years ago I stood next to, wearing a hot blue uniform with a poofy feather thing jutting out of my hat, holding an alto saxophone, joking with Jason Howell and Kelli White, close to Chris McCall who kept stealing glances at Andrea Foreman, all while I was stealing glances at majorettes, while Jason stole glances--who am I kidding, he just plain stared--at Kelli White, all of us awaiting marching orders from drum major Tonya Windham, and wondering if I would actually keep in step this time around, and knowing the answer would be, probably not. But that’s okay. We marched on.

I haven’t picked up an alto saxophone in at least five years, and then it was only once. Before that, it was high school band. I've thought about picking it up again, memories of Kenny G songs still flowing through me head... I could actually play "Songbird" at one time. But, alas, I've also thought about learning how to play the mandolin I've owned for 8 years, and that hasn't happened either...

I stared out into the football field a while longer, making verbal notes into my voice recorder, discussing my own characters that are dancing around in my head and how a football field might come into play when Peter and Barrow are discussing what to do for homecoming. But that’s later, I think. I decided it was time to go, enough nostalgia for one day had been accomplished.

I walk back down the same sidewalk, pausing for a moment from talking into my voice recorder as an older gentlemen walked by. No sense in sounding stupid. Er. I make another walk around the school, out onto the front lawn and back down Broad, then Farmer Street. A few blocks later, I was back in my own home, sitting and talking with my dear mother again.

She’s addicted to judge shows…. She doesn’t care for Judge Judy, but Judge Judy comes on between Judge Joe Brown and some other judge, so she doesn’t bother to change the channel, she just sits and complains about how much she doesn’t like Judge Judy. Love my mom.

It's around 4pm, and I'm getting hungry. I've got an hour before dinner, though, one that should be fun. I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friends, and shake their hands.  I hope the Pea River is as blueish green as it has been in my dreams.

I hope.

And finally, the last part of The Samson Blog... Memories in a BBQ Dive

Samson Blog Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books

Continuing my 4 part series on my day visit to Samson, Alabama, my journey has already carried me through Troy, Alabama, where I went to college. That alone could be another 4 part series, and maybe one day I'll write it, but for now, I've walked through downtown, seen some of the aftermath of March's terrible day, and am now sitting in my own home.

Catch up with
Samson Blog Part I: "...Knee High to a Puddle Duck"

PART II... TAMMY WARD & THE LIBRARY BOOKS

When we moved to Alabama in October 1984, we moved into a small yellow house on Johnson Street. For whatever reason, a year later, we decided to move across the street to a big white house with a monstrously big yard, still on Johnson Street, but now on the other side of Farmer Street. And then, a year later, they bought the house my mom lives in now, a small yellow house with a front porch, a small side yard and a half-acre backyard.


The first two homes I lived in, in Samson, Alabama. The one on the right is the one we moved into in 1984. The left is the one we moved into a year or two later.

It’s time to come clean, though. I grew up in a smoking home. My mom smokes. My dad, before he passed in 2000, smoked. My sisters smoke. The entire family is one big cancerous cell of cigarettes and ashtrays. How I survived without lung cancer covering my entire body for all the years I lived there is beyond me, venturing into the plan and Grace of God.


And here's the home I grew up. The front left window was my bedroom. I only snuck out once, in December of 1993. I walked around town. Went home. I lead a boring life.

I never understood how bad it was until I went to college, started washing my clothes and lived in a non-smoking environment. Dude, I smelled bad. Really. I have said before—I know I smelled gawd-awful after recess and in those days, you know, before boys discovered deodorant… and I still contend, I grow up in a clean smelling home and I get dates in high school.

I pulled up and came in through the front, with my mom very happy to see me. And the house smelled the same as ever. I spent some time with her, talking about the family, who’s doing what, who’s doing what where, who’s having another baby (somehow, I don’t have kids despite the fact my family is very, very fertile… or maybe they just can’t afford birth control, who knows), who’s working where, who went hunting, who’s going fishing next week, who’s finally divorced from his 2nd wife to be able to finally marry the 3rd, mostly because rehab went really well and things are better. You only think I’m kidding. They tried to make him go to rehab, but he said no, no, no.

After a little while, though, I had to go outside and clear my head and my eyes because they were watering. It’s hard for The Lovely Steph Leann when she comes down, too, because her head gets stopped up, she gets a bad headache, and truly her thin hair holds the smell for days.

I figured I would take a small stroll down to the Samson Public Library, the small building on the end of my block. I walked through four small front yards to get there, and remember how, in my very first day in Samson, Alabama, on October 24th, 1984, my cousin Terry took me down there, set me up with a library card account and I checked out two books… one was a kid’s joke book, and I cannot remember the other. Years later—and I mean years later, like 15 or more—I went in there and found that very same joke book and saw the same card was there, with only a few more names on it, separated by a couple of years each. Apparently, it wasn’t a very good joke book.

My first shock was that… Samson Public Library has computers! There are five or six along the wall, all hooked up to that new fangled interweb thingy they got going. I saw someone new behind the librarian’s desk, only at a cursory glance, and she was taking care of two library patrons. So, I sat down at the computer and pulled up the interweb, checked my email. Tried to get on Facebook but it must be blocked, as it took me to a search site. Clever them, I see.


The Samson Public Library

I walked around a little bit, and reflected on the very last time I was in this library. I was doing a paper for college, and had come home for the weekend. It wasn’t my senior year, I know that, but I can’t tell you if it was freshman, sophomore or junior, but it was at least 1996 or before. I took a table, had books and papers spread out, and actually used the Encyclopedia Britannica for it. I probably scored an A, because, well, I’m awesome.

I clicked off the computer, then took a stroll around the shelves—I’m not lying to you when I say that there are about 20 bookcases in the entire library, counting the ones against the wall. I didn’t see the Dewey Decimal cards, though, so that might be an improvement. The people that were being helped by the librarian finally walked out with their new books, and the librarian piped up, “Hey d$!”

I turned around, surprised at being recognized and there stood before me… Tammy Ward. “Well, hello Tammy,” I smiled. I walked over and gave her a hug and we began to chat, in the way that friends who haven’t seen each other but once since 1993 will sometimes do. We discussed kids, family, jobs, futures, pasts, and of course, the events of March 10th. She looked great, and it was a joy to see her there. She remembered me bringing The Lovely Steph Leann to our high school reunion in 2002, and asked about her and us, and I let her know that yes, there was an “us”.

We said our goodbyes, I gave her my info and blog address (because naturally, I want everyone to come to this page… otherwise, why do it, right?) and walked out into the yard. I strolled back home, visited with mom some more, and then adjourned to the front porch. There, on the front porch I stood for the better part of half an hour, just watching the traffic go by. For every sports car and Toyota Camry, you’d see a tractor humming down the road, for every small Ford pickup truck, you’d see another three times its size, covered in mud and grass and evidence that its used for more than just trips to Wal-Mart.

I looked up and noticed how low the front porch ceiling was. When I was a kid, I could jump with all of my might and barely touch it. This time, I laid my palm flat. Sometimes a car would slow as it passed, and I could see the driver glance my way in a, “Could that be…. No, can’t be…” sort of fashion, but none stopped. Across the street and to the left is a small day care, so the kids were running wild in the backyard, and what a great day for it.

Somewhere along the way, my mother has decided to collect wind chimes. I don’t think I’ve ever paid much attention to the sheer quantity of chimage on that porch until now. The sound of kids yelling and playing across the street was matched by what I counted as 11 wind chimes, with 44 individual noisemaking bars, all whipping around in a cacophony of dinging metal. It was on that very porch, at that very moment that I decided… being in Samson might not be so bad. Seriously.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no intentions of packing my stuff, I have no reason to leave The Happiest Place in the Mall, I have no thoughts of discussing with The Lovely Steph Leann a way to make a life for us down in South Alabama, but I thought if something disastrous happened, if something crazy occurred, if something forced us—or me—to start over… Samson might not a bad place to be. Funny how I spent all those years waiting to get out of that town, another decade forgetting it existed, and then a stint on the front porch can make me re-think all of it.

Note: A few days after I wrote this entire blog post, all four parts, I had another stop on the d$ 2009 Reunion Tour when I met Stan McDuffie for lunch--having seen the guy once, in 2002, since we graduated, it was good to catch up on things. I discussed the possibility of going back one day, maybe, and he only sort of agreed. Reflecting upon this conversation, I agree. I am happy and content with where I am right at this moment, but going back wouldn't be the end of the world.

Without a word, I decided I’d take another stroll. I headed down Johnson Street until I came upon the next street over… and I always forget the name of it… Owens Street! I always avoided that road when I was a kid, because there was this big dog that lived there. He chased me when I was on my bike, so Lord knows I would never actually run down that road on foot. No dogs today though—I did, however, watch a little more carefully than anywhere else.

I walked the block down Owens Street, then cut a left onto Ripley, then strolling into the IGA supermarket. Bill Taylor has owned this place as long as I can possibly remember. This is the kind of place where my mother, in ill health, has called up there for a couple of groceries, and they would deliver it to her. Barbara, who has worked there as long as I can remember, is the one who went and got an absentee ballot for my mom to help her vote for the first time in her life. These are the kind of people that Samson breeds.

The IGA seems much smaller too, though really, I guess everything does. I bought a Co-cola and a Mounds bar, having not had lunch, and then I spent $10 on a magnetic car ribbon, one that says “THOUGHTS & PRAYERS 3/10/09” with a Tiger paw on the corner. All proceeds go to victims families, apparently. It’s on my car now.


It's $10 well spent

I left IGA, walking back down Ripley Street in the direction I had come, but instead of going right onto Owens to head home, I took a left on Owens, walking up to Broad Street. This is where Samson High School, home of the Fightin’ Tigers, sits.

Next... High School High... and Lows...