Rebel Without a Cause

It was unearthly hot. I couldn’t go wrong with my nifty app, I thought. I had downloaded the app to navigate us around D.C. before we had left for vacation. The app sounded great in its description and reviews. All I had to do was select which historical place that I wanted to go and it would provide me with metro and walking directions. Truthfully, it was a great app. It didn’t prepare me, however, for the terrain and encompassing environment.

We had previously walked a mile from our last metro stop to the National Zoo. Within the National Zoo, we probably walked another 2 miles. I’m not complaining about the walking within the zoo as that is to be expected in any zoo if you want to see all of the amazing creatures and exhibits. Unfortunately, we had gotten there an hour before most of the exhibits were open. This meant that we would have to walk longer to pass the time while waiting for the major exhibits to open. Did I mention the scorching heat? I should have learned from my trip to Japan to carry an umbrella. I had noticed in Japan that many pedestrians and sightseers carry an umbrella when walking the streets to block the sun’s rays from baking their skin. I was not that smart.

The navigation app suggested a mile walk from the zoo to the White House, our next stop. Although I’ve never been in the military, I admire those that routinely embark on several mile hikes in combat boots. The mile-long walk on a continuous incline from the zoo to the White House in the scorching heat was one of the most strenuous work outs I have ever had. Besides the baking sun, the incline did not bother me much that day. As I tried to get out of bed the next day, however, I felt like the lady from the Emergency Alert ID Bracelet commercial when she said, “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up.”

After finally making it to the White House, my wife and I took the normal pictures posing in front of the gates of the White House. For whatever reason, there wasn’t a huge crowd on Pennsylvania Avenue that day. In fact, it was relatively quiet. After taking a few pictures of each other posing and basking in the elegance of the historical surroundings, we trekked across the street to a bench directly across from the White House. It was then that we noticed the little old lady camped across the street from the White House. Besides a brief encounter with a Nation of Islam activist throwing Travon Martin’s name around, this was my first encounter with a genuine protestor.

Out of curiosity, we approached her sidewalk campsite. With frayed, grayish hair and her skeletal frame, she spoke softly as she handed us literature concerning her cause. I couldn’t decipher what she was saying repetitively to other sightseers that gathered near her campground. “Stop helping Israel!” was the only rhetoric that I was able to interpret.

We quickly left her campsite to allow other sightseers to listen to her message and to land on the empty park bench set in the inviting shade. It wasn’t long before a loud commotion arose. An Egyptian and anti-American protestor began shouting propaganda in front of the White House. Before he got to a good rant, another sightseer began contesting him in a pro-American debate in which he easily won to an ovation of cheers from other tourists. As I relaxed and listened with my back turned to the event, the ovation continued as the defensive American walked past me. I was surprised to see that the man the crowd was cheering was garbed in a flowered dress and Minnie Pearl hat. Along with the many attractions that were free, apparently tickets to the circus were free as well.

After we had ventured back to our hotel, I laid on the bed wondering what to do with the rest of the night and the next day. There wasn’t much that I could do that night. The stiffness in my joints and muscles from the hike from the zoo was beginning to take effect. I decided to take a look at the literature from the elderly lady protesting across from the White House. I had thrown my copy away, but my wife had kept her copy for a souvenir. I glanced through the material thinking that it would become circular file material if it wasn’t for my wife’s scrapbook hoarding habit. It wasn’t long, however, before I became enthralled in the old lady’s story.

The pamphlets provided very little information. There were some dated illustrations of nuclear missiles, but what captured my attention was the fact that she had been calling her campsite on Pennsylvania Avenue home since 1981. The idea that anyone would go to such extremes for such a long period of time to support their cause amazed me. I found it admirable to say the least. I wanted to learn more about her and her cause.

The woman’s name is Connie Picciotto. Since the early 1980s, she has battled freezing conditions, sweltering heat, hecklers, beatings, and various other conditions to support her cause. I enjoyed her story as I read further. The only problem was that I could not determine exactly what her cause was or what she was fighting for. She rambled about issues that reminded me more of a Cold war history lesson than anything current. In my unexplainable desire to psychoanalyze everyone I meet, I began to realize that she was probably using her “cause” was probably an escape from reality.

She had lost the one true love of her life, her daughter, in a custody battle that was fought in Spain and the U.S. Her husband had an affair with a woman she had thought was her aunt. She was battered by her husband and deemed crazy by the authorities. She had a difficult life to say the least. Although her story is filled with sadness, it is also filled with paranoia. Maybe she really was crazy.

It became apparent to me that when she embarked on a new life on the Washington streets that she was seeking an escape from her real life. From her story, I am reminded that we should never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has their own demons that they deal with in their own way. This is the part where I should say that the woman should turn to God. However, this is much harder to do for some than others. I couldn’t solve Mrs. Picciotto’s problems if I tried. At this point, I think it wouldn’t do any good as her alternate reality has become her actual reality.

As a society, we are our brother’s keeper. We should take an interest in one another. We can’t solve everyone’s problems. What we can do, however, is try not to judge. Mrs. Picciotto is not the only one who has put on a veil to mask who she really is inside. Most of us have done it at some point to hide our innermost feelings and insecurities. Some go to more extremes than others.

I threw Mrs. Picciotto’s literature away with no intention of reading it until I realized I was unable to move from the effects of our trek from the National Zoo that day. I am glad I got a chance to read her story. In my mind, she went from a sideshow to a real person with an amazing history.

For more information about Connie Picciotto, visit http://prop1.org/conchita/

Heaven isn't too far away

Maybe it’s not even about seeing someone or something “again.” Maybe it’s about seeing them for the first time. All I can really say is I’ve seen these people in pictures. Wanting to see just more than that, well, would be one heck of a wish. But on the important note, Heaven has them safe until I get there.

The lucky two I am writing about would definitely be my Aunt Debbie and Uncle Larry, siblings of my dad. The two were born with Cystic Fibrosis, a common chronic lung disease in children and young adults. Which, in a result that led them home to Jesus.

Pictures and stories show the love that took place. When Gramma gets on the subject, she never fails to mention how Dad want us to show the love and enjoyment every passing moment we can just as Bruce and Dad did with Debbie and Larry. They may not have ever known what would later happen, but they knew they always needed to show their love, to everyone. Gramma teaches well huh?

If Heaven wasn’t so far away, we’d pack up our bags and go for a day. But until then, the first meet will be some amount of time. And I can say I’m ok with that. stayed at Debbie’s bed side or how Larry loved her home-made birthday cakes. In EVERY picture, there was always a smile on each of their faces.

I never had the chance to meet them, and If so, I was a baby. But having a wish to be able to meet them or see them today would be incredible. All I’ve got are the pictures and stories and for now.

My dad and Uncle Bruce, I do believe, have raised my sisters, myself, and my four cousins to have fun, love, and cherish. And I could say I see why. You never know when you see your last tomorrow. So, with that being said, they want us to show the love and enjoyment every passing day we can just as Bruce and Dad did with Debbie and Larry. They may not have ever known what would later happen, but they knew they always needed to show their love, to everyone. Gramma teaches well huh?

If Heaven wasn’t so far away, we’d pack up our bags and go for a day. But until then, the first meet will be some amount of time. And I can say I’m ok with that.

Me and my RC

I’ve always admired those that use genealogy tools to trace their family tree and search for lost relatives. Born in Indiana, I have several relatives in West TN that I wouldn’t know if I were speaking to them directly. I have other relatives, however, that live within mere miles of my home, yet I haven’t seen or talked to in ages. I imagine everyone has a similar scenario. As you grow older and pursue your own interests, you simply lose touch with those that seemed so familiar to us as youngsters. There’s always the occasional run-in at a restaurant, convenience store, or Wal-Mart. After the “Good to see you” and “How have you been”, we go back to our lives. We might even mention to someone that we ran into so-and-so, but we soon forget about the encounter and the person as we become wrapped up in our own lives again.

I don’t know if it is possible to stay in contact with everyone. Furthermore, I’m not sure if it’s a great idea anyway. The simple, occasional run-in works for some people. For instance, I ran into a high school buddy at Wal-Mart recently whom I hadn’t seen in over 20 years. I’d thought about this friend numerous times over the years and all the fun times we used to have. It was great to see him even though I could tell the years had made him a changed man. For whatever reason, he seemed bitter on life in general. I ran into him again the next 2 times I went to Wal-Mart. Since we had already done the “what have you been up to” bit, the uneasiness was apparent as we attempted cordial small talk. I saw him a few other times and I simply avoided him by going down a different aisle.

Even though that instance didn’t turn out pleasant, I still wished I had done more to stay in touch beforehand. Our memories are what shape our lives. It is all too often that as we pursue our dreams and desires that we forget the people and events that helped us charter our course.

As a youngster in Indiana, I didn’t see much of my uncle RC with the exception of the yearly trips to Tennessee we seemed to always take when my mom and dad got into an argument. The routine was the same. They would get into an argument and my mother would threaten to go home; home meaning Tennessee. We would usually stay a week at my uncle’s house before returning back home to Indiana.

Tennessee was a culture shock to a young yankee as I was accustomed to calling all soda drinks pop and not Coke as it seemed all soft drinks were identified by in the south. My uncle embodied the culture that was so unfamiliar to me. He would pick at me for saying “you guys” so much, while I swore to never say the word “ya’ll”. Of course, that vow didn’t last long as “ya’ll” is now part of my normal vocabulary, but I have never been able to master the word with the innocent, southern charm that he spoke it with.

He would always send me home with a souvenir from my visit. The souvenir was usually a patch of raw leather taken from the plant that he worked at. He had went to work at a small leather plant in Milan, Volunteer Leather, as a teen with no skills, but the desire to earn a decent living without leaving home. Before long, he ended up managing the plant and was the Plant Manager until the plant closed near the beginning of the millennium. I do not know how he was as a manager. I have heard some say that he was tough. I do know that he put a lot of people to work and helped many people along the way.

A raw piece of leather may not sound like much, but it meant plenty to a young boy who had no idea where it came from. Heck, the only time I ever saw a cow was on our visits to Tennessee. I remember the smell of the leather as if it were yesterday. To this day, I have never smelled leather as fresh as the small patches he used to give to me. I was so enamored by it that I even took it to Show and Tell. I described my prize with so much enthusiasm that all of the other kids wanted me to get them a piece of leather from my uncle’s factory in Tennessee.

On one of his rare visits to Indiana, he demonstrated how to use a set of weights. As I vowed to become as strong as him one day, he challenged me to set a goal and let him know when I reached it. A year or so later when we visited, I saw the Polaroid on his refrigerator of me struggling to keep the 40 lbs above my head until the picture was taken.

Over time, we would eventually move to Tennessee for good after a spat between my parents. Whereas I should have become closer with my uncles, aunts, and cousins, time kept moving along as we all lived our separate lives. It was always a pleasure to run into my uncle albeit if it was at Wal-Mart. He was always one of the friendliest persons that I have ever met. Whereas you can always spot and sense the fake “good to see you, etc.”, he always seemed genuinely happy to see you. Since it had usually been a while since I had seen him, he would always in a Gomer Pyle-like manner say, “Gollllly,” when I updated him on my life, the kids, etc. Genuine enthusiasm like this is what I received whenever I interacted with him. People spend money on books and courses to teach them how to become interested in other people and show enthusiasm. It was naturally instilled in my uncle.

In the early 2000’s, my mother told me that he was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. I had heard stories of how positive thinking had overcome such cases, and I told her that if anyone fit the mold of someone that could overcome it that it would be him. He fought it all 12 rounds. Each time that it looked like he had given it the knock-out punch, however, it would come back swinging. Each time, though, he fought back just as hard. After nearly 10 years of battling his foe, a blood clot dealt him a fatal blow.

I wish that I had talked to him more besides the occasional run in like the one that happened about a month ago at McDonald’s. I remember the “Gollllly” he exclaimed that night when he talked of how beautiful my kids were. Genuine enthusiasm at its finest. I can only try to be as fine of a person as he was. Humanity lost a great person, but in heaven a star is born.

But Seriously Folks

I like to make humor of any situation, but I’ve never considered myself a cynical person. As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve had the chance to attend numerous positive thinking and spiritual seminars. I had a chance recently to participate in the famous Dale Carnegie leadership course. I had always wanted to do this and was happy that my employer decided that they would pay for it. Then again, that could be why I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as I thought I might.

An interesting aspect of the course is when each member of an assigned group writes what they like most about each member in the group. Every member of the group complimented me on my ability to tell a story with a sense of humor and a slight amount of sarcasm. Sarcasm? Me? I didn’t understand where that was coming from. To make matters worse, the facilitator noted “gotta love sarcasm” when he presented me with my participation award. I didn’t get it. Was I really that bad?

I guess I do have a problem taking things seriously at times. Well, probably most of the time. I remember once during the course when the facilitator had us recite Mother Goose nursery rhymes. He usually did silly things like this to get us warmed up for class. The problem was that I didn’t really know Mother Goose. For most folks, reciting the nursery rhymes was no problem.

As it turned out, I knew a little Mother Goose as well. The first nursery rhyme we recited was Mary had a Little Lamb. I knew this one. “Mary had a little lamb,” I shouted in harmony with everyone else. However, that was about as far as I got when I realized that the nursery rhymes I was familiar with were different than the nursery rhymes everyone else grew up with. While everyone else recited “Mary had a little lamb its fleece was white as snow,” I recited it the way that I knew it. “Mary had a little lamb she kept in her back yard.”

Luckily, no one noticed. I realized, though, that the rest of the nursery rhyme I had learned growing up probably wasn’t appropriate for class. I just kept quiet for the rest of the recital, but wonder what would have happened had I recited the rest. After all, this class was about public speaking and Andrew “Dice” Clay once sold out Madison Square Garden reciting his nursery rhymes that were etched in my memory.

As hard as I try, I can’t remain serious for an extended period of time. It certainly doesn’t help me at times professionally. Sometimes, I feel like Chandler Bing when he was applying for a job (Chandler's boss: Let's talk about your duties". Chandler: "You said doodies"). I must admit that I take great pleasure in seeing the bewildered looks on people's faces after a wisecrack that is usually at their expense. When it gets me in trouble, I can always claim that they misunderstood me or something. As a wise man once told me, “even us geniuses are sure enough absent minded.”

The Bible tells me so

The number of self-help books on the market today amuses me. The fact that Dr. Phil has a talk show amuses me even more. I must admit, though, that I’ve read my fair share of them.

I read my first self-help book, How to stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie, when I was a teenager. Not that I was a depressed teenager or anything, but a neighbor was cleaning out his room and gave it to me. I was very impressed by the book. It detailed a lot of philosophies and actions that will definitely improve your life. Over time, I have read several of those types of books. Most recently, I read “The Secret.”

Throughout my college and work experience, I have attended numerous seminars that are aimed to develop leadership and personal skills. Most of the seminars were beneficial. After reading all of these books and attending the seminars, I began to realize that most of these books and speakers basically said the same thing. Although these books helped me somewhat, most of the actions they suggested came to me naturally as I aged. Some might call that personal growth.

However, I cannot attribute any personal growth to a self-help book or seminar. These people that are making money by promoting “self-help” are basically stealing their material. This stuff has been around long before Dale Carnegie or Dr. Phil. Most of it’s elementary and should come natural. What’s scary is the fact that the actions recommended by these “gurus” don’t come natural to some people.
The Golden Rule, do unto others as you would have them do unto you, is the basis for most self-help books. The rest is base on other biblical principles and teachings of Christ (Really? You didn’t expect Dr. Phil to save you, did you?).

Realizing this, I am aghast at the amount of people in these seminars that act as though they are amazed that these techniques work. They act as though they have never heard of these principles before. I’ve seen people amazed that they could benefit from a more productive workforce, have better relationships, and have better general communication skills by simply listening to a person and showing genuine interest in that person. Is that really new knowledge? “But the greatest among you shall be your servant. And whoever exalts himself shall be humbled; and whoever humbles himself shall be exalted” (Matthew 23:11-12).

Why is so difficult for people to have good relationships. Why is it so amazing to learn that we can be more effective by improving our relationships? It sounds as if people have become so self involved that they become insecure in their own vanity. “Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God [am] a jealous God” (Exodus 20:5).

It is scary to me that so many people do not realize the basic principles to simply live and get more out of life. The Secret teaches that you can have anything your heart desires by simply believing in it. They left the part out about a belief in God and having faith. “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:” (Matt 7:7). So now basically, self-help books are stealing the gospel, selling the gospel, but leaving the gospel out of the gospel.

I guess maybe it’s not their fault. We have become so politically correct in this country that we are afraid to offend anybody. Mtv’s The Real World, a show that promotes underage drinking, irresponsibility, and unnatural sexual acts, has been on the air for nearly 20 years now. It has inspired countless “reality” shows that basically promote excessive lifestyles and irresponsibility on a larger scale. An entire generation has been raised with valueless role models. During this same time period, the word God has been stricken from nearly everything with the exception of the GD curse word. I’m not a preacher by any means (nor am I Glen Beck), but I can definitely see the correlation between the lack of social skills and values and the lack of faith.

The country was begun with a revolution. The British considered us traitors. Would we be considered traitors now if we began a revolution of sorts. We definitely need to change people’s minds. Besides, they want us to change their minds. They spend millions of dollars every year on books by self-help gurus to help change their mind.

I wonder what would happen if a high school teacher that taught business or leadership began using the bible as their textbook. They would probably be fired. However, you can find most leadership principles that I have been taught in seminars and other books in the bible.

I could understand the teacher not wanting to do something like this because he would be fired. However, this is exactly how a revolution was started when the ACLU first wanted to eliminate the bible from class and replace it with evolution. Much like teachers are not allowed to mention God now, they could not mention evolution in the 1920s. John Scopes, a substitute teacher, was basically chosen by the ACLU to be their pansy. He taught about evolution and was subsequently fired. A huge court case was formed that was financed by the ACLU. The court case made a mockery of Christianity and eventually led to many other cases that have led to our current condition of decay.

John Scopes was found guilty and fined, but the case was a landmark for evolution theorists and the ACLU. Why can’t we do the same thing? I’d love to see evolution made a mockery of on a grand stage. Big Bang theory? Cavemen and apes? I’m sorry, but I don’t buy any of it.

Do we need change? Yes, but it’s not the same change that hopeful presidential candidates talk about. We just need to get back to basics. Every rule for life is written in the bible. It’s really not that complicated.

Click here for info on The Scopes Monkey Trial

Travel At Your Own Risk

When I accepted the invitation to the 60 min presentation in exchange for a $75 Visa gift card, I knew what I was in for. At a vacation in Gatlinburg a few years ago, a man flagged us down and offered us a $100 bill to listen to a 90 min presentation for a timeshare. The presenter got agitated at me when I told him I had no intention of buying anything and was only there for the $100. He ended the presentation in 30 minutes and awarded us our $100. His blood pressure was a little higher, but my wallet was a little fatter.

I should have known that it wouldn’t be as easy this time. I had rented a few days from my friend’s timeshare property in Florida and booked an appointment for a similar presentation the day after arriving. The host promised that there would be no pressure. “We’re different than everyone else,” she promised. I tried to give her subtle hints. I relayed the scenario in Gatlinburg, but that didn’t seem to register with her. When I expressed my desire to visit New York, she asked what kind of place could we rent in New York with the money we had spent so far on this vacation. I joked that a cardboard box in Central Park would be about all, but she still didn’t seem amused. She continued to attempt to lure me into buying a timeshare by explaining how they had a partnership with Bass Pro Shops and I could go hunting and fishing anywhere in the world. Unfortunately for her, I’m probably the only Tennessean that could care less about hunting and fishing. “Heck,” I explained, “I’ve never even set foot in a Bass Pro Shop.”

Finally, she brought her manager out. I began to feel as if I were on Deal or No Deal. I must admit that they made me some pretty good deals though. I now know that if I ever want to buy a timeshare to act like I don’t want one. I could have gotten it for ¼ of the advertised price. However, a timeshare is not currently in my budget or list of priorities. After 2 hours, I finally told her that I came to Florida for vacation and had no intention of buying anything. Once again, I was asked why I booked the presentation. “For the $75 gift card,” I said. “We’re finished here,” she said.

I understand that she was a sales-person and it was her job to try and sell me the timeshare, but I don’t understand the lengths that she went to. Maybe that's why I'm not a salesman. I used to feel guilty when I worked at H&R Block when the manager used to push H&R Block’s other products on people who couldn’t afford it. Most people were only there to get their taxes back in a quick way. Nevertheless, they usually bought products from the other tax preparers as they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. I have some sort of a conscience thing going on and never could do that to someone. Some of the stories taxpayers would tell me were heart wrenching. I couldn’t take advantage of them for my gain. That’s pretty much why I was written up for not offering “H&R Block’s additional services.”

When undermining my priorities didn’t work, she tried to gain sympathy by telling me that I made her feel like she wasn’t doing her job good enough. Before it was all over, I had the impression that she was one of those people that thought she was better than the people she was selling to. I interpreted her dialogue to mean that she thought she was smarter than me as well. I’m glad she felt that way. After all, I’m the one that got the gift card that paid for food at Disney (actually 2 large Domino's pizzas and a couple tanks of gas)by listening to her failed sales attempt. I got paid and she didn't.

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When I bought my Garmin Nuvi GPS system last winter, I thought it was the greatest technology ever developed. It has come in useful on several occasions by taking me turn-by-turn exactly where I needed to go. In the past, I’ve relied on directions from Yahoo and Expedia. I had so much confidence in the GPS system that I relied on it solely for our trip to Florida. On our return, however, I was ready to throw it in the garbage.

I was not happy with the route it took me to Florida on. It took us on a bunch of back roads through Alabama when I would have rather taken the interstate. On our return, I entered “Opry Mills” in hopes that it would take me through Georgia on the interstate instead of the back roads of Alabama. After wasting an hour driving through side roads, it finally got me to the interstate….for a little while.

When we got near Atlanta, it directed me off of the interstate into Atlanta city limits. I was legitimately scared of being car-jacked at any moment. I kept thinking of Greg Brady in the Brady Bunch movie, “Well, of course this is a car. But my name's not Jack.” For what seemed like an eternity, I drove through the heart of Atlanta before finally getting back to the interstate. My interstate ride was once again short lived. The GPS directed me to a few more side streets before guiding us back to the same highway that we had exited off of. Luckily, this stretch should have guided us straight into or around Nashville.

The next exit should have been I-440W, but the GPS was forecasting an exit at Franklin, Tn. I’ve driven to Nashville and Chatanooga enough to know that the forecast simply couldn’t be right. After fiddling around with the settings for a few minutes, I programmed “fastest time” into the system. “Shortest distance” had previously been programmed in. That did the trick and I-440W showed up as the next exit on my GPS screen. Had I have known that that would do the trick, I probably wouldn’t have wasted 2 hrs and risking my life by driving through side streets of Orlando and Hotlanta. Stupid me. I was thinking that “shortest distance” and “fastest time” would have been one in the same. Who’d have thunk it?

Famous in a Small Town

Call me nostalgic, but I like to think that the serenity of small town life still exists in today’s globalized society. Towns like Mayberry, USA are what built the foundation of America. I don’t know if every town had their own Barney Fife or not, but it was much nicer when our local officials knew its city’s residents on a personal basis. Everyone even spoke to each other by name in passing. Each town had their own local hardware store and a restaurant where residents gathered to gossip, drink coffee, and fill their lungs with cigarette smoke.

Even though I like to think that these towns still exist, I have come to the realization that this idea is more fantasy than reality. On our recent trip to Eureka Springs, we decided to take the scenic route, which added about an hour and a half to our travel time. Although the Ozarks are beautiful in the Fall as Autumn decorated the leaves in an assortment of different colors, the remaining scenery consisted of dilapidated houses with yards full of garbage and broken down automobiles that had been in the yards so long that the trees growing through them had already bore fruit.

The scene continued for the next 75-100 miles until we made it to Eureka Springs. I wondered silently what the residents of these towns do for a living. The most obvious answer was manufacturing methamphetamine. Industry and agriculture had long since left these towns leaving its residents in poverty with few options unless they relocated. Eureka Springs is the exception because it celebrates its history and has been able to capitalize on tourism.

As I read the brochures about Eureka Springs and its neighboring cities while I ate my parfait at our bed and breakfast, I was amazed to learn of the bountiful population that once existed in the areas many decades ago. At one point, Eureka Springs boasted a population of nearly 20,000 inhabitants. Now, only about 2,000 people live in the city.

However, this is only one reminder of how globalization has decimated the small towns that we love so much. In 2005, we moved to Bradford, TN. Bradford has always been known as for its small town vibe, yet it has a history of industry much like most other West TN towns. We quickly settled in to our home and were enamored with the scenic view in our back yard and the friendliness of our neighbors and other Bradford citizens. Things would soon change quickly as a tornado robbed me of the scenic view from my back yard six months later, but that’s another story.

As we settled in, I began to notice the abandoned hardware and motor parts stores that have been replaced by Wal-Mart and Auto Zone in neighboring Milan. I was amazed, however, to find that the town still has one factory still in operation. Half of the building contains windows broken out from vandals, while the other half houses a handful of workers that probably struggle to feed their families on wages paid to them from their employers who sell the product made to other companies for greater profit. Actually, I have no idea what is made there, but it’s a broken-down building in a secluded corner of the city. I was amazed to learn that it was even in operation. I do not know how much the few employees are paid there, but it could be a sweatshop for all I know. The point is that opportunities are few and far between. Once a pillar of West Tennessee, the city’s number 1 exported product is now methamphetamine.

The decay does not stop at Bradford. If you travel north to towns like Greenfied, Martin, and Union City, you will see more of the same. All of these towns were once industrial towns. People simply went to work, came home, went to the local café to gossip, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes, and actually shopped at small businesses within their community.

If you travel south, you will enter Milan, which is not much different. Milanites, as Bob Parkins used to call citizens of Milan, would probably take exception to that statement. Milan prides itself on its football team, its school system, industry, and its local businesses. The truth is that Milan has been decaying for the last 5-10 years. Like every other small town, it has lost a majority of its industry. Milan once housed several small businesses including the legendary Bob’s Grill and Pappy’s. Bob’s Grill was the quintessential small town restaurant where people could gossip, drink coffee, and fill their lungs with smoke.

Today, Milan has essentially disappeared into the depths of Medina’s expanding reach. Where small businesses once existed within the heart of the city, new businesses have moved south near the new Wal-Mart Super Center. Inside the town of Milan, the Bulldogs still play within the shell of the town. When the games are over and the lights go out, Milan is just another town rapidly expanding its industry of methamphetamine as the city decays around it.

A sign of the harsh reality is the fact that the mayor of Milan is pushing for Sunday sales of alcoholic beverages. This is the final nail in the coffin of the morals and values that helped build the town. One thing that I forgot to mention about small town life is Sunday fellowship and the abundance of churches one has to choose from. In reality, the town desperately needs the money from taxes on sales of alcohol. I guess that’s one way to bring prosperity back, sell the meth manufacturers beer so they can make even worse decisions in their dealings. I guess if a meth dealer murdered a client during a deal gone bad, he could always blame Chris Crider, mayor of Milan. He might not have been as hostile and shot the client if he hadn’t drank the Michelob, which had been illegal to purchase on Sunday previously.

I still hope that small town culture and values exist somewhere in America. Globalization and expansion of companies like Wal-Mart has severely altered life as we know it. Although many of us can adapt, others do not realize that the Industrial Age has passed. I remember working in a plant that was to close soon. As I looked to the future optimistically, I remember seeing many scared faces that didn’t know what to do. Is it really any wonder that methamphetamine manufacturing is growing at an alarming rate? Some people simply don’t know what else to do as opportunities in their surroundings are few.

Yes, I do believe that everyone is responsible for themselves and there are numerous opportunities available if one only looks and realizes their own potential, but what about the towns that are decaying from within? Shouldn’t we invest somehow back into these towns? Instead, we are counting on businesses outside of these cities, while the inner city decays (see Milan). Isn’t there another answer besides taxes from alcohol sales? How much are we really paying with ideas like that? Let’s see: A guy misses his appointment at the unemployment office Monday morning because he had a hangover from the case of beer he bought the night before. Instead of him possibly gaining employment, we as tax payers will continue to compensate him. Did I mention that the guy spent his entire unemployment check on the case of beer? Now, we’ll pay for his EBT card with our taxes so he can buy some groceries for his children. Good idea, Mr. Crider.

I digress. It’s ironic that like Billy Crystal in City Slickers, a person has to take a vacation to experience what was once everyday life for most people. Nevertheless, I will continue to believe that small town culture still exists somewhere, even it is only on TV Land in shows like Leave it to Beaver, Ozzie and Harriett, or even the Munsters.


Famous in a small town? We desperately have to do a better job educating youth and instilling the values that America was built on. Click here