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Born May 18, 1953; got saved at Truett Memorial BC in Hayesville, NC 1959. On rigged ballot which I did not rig got Most Intellectual class of 71, Gaffney High School. Furman Grad, Sociology major but it was little tougher than Auburn football players had Had three dates with beautiful women the summer of 1978. Did not marry any of em. Never married anybody cause what was available was undesirable and what was desirable was unaffordable. Unlucky in love as they say and even still it is sometimes heartbreaking. Had a Pakistani Jr. Davis Cupper on the Ropes the summer of 84, City Courts, Rome Georgia I've a baby sitter, watched peoples homes while they were away on Vacation. Freelance writer, local consultant, screenwriter, and the best damn substitute teacher of Floyd County Georgia in mid 80's according to an anonymous kid passed me on main street a few years later when I went back to get a sandwich at Schroeders. Had some good moments in Collinsville as well. Ask Casey Mattox at if he will be honest about it. I try my best to make it to Bridges BBQ in Shelby NC at least four times a year.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

A Fascinating article from Oxford American

The Strange Case of Brad Vice and his book The Bear Bryant Funeral Train

Check the Website cause I think many of you will want a copy of the upcoming Movie Issue

This one bout explains the remaining mysteries of the ambience of Alabama

I particularly liked this paragraph

This is where I confess that I left my hometown of Mobile, Alabama, for bigger cities a long time ago and rarely looked back. Like the narrator of “What Happens in the ’Burg, Stays in the ’Burg,” who, during a very successful fish fry on his lawn in Russellville, Arkansas, wishes he were at a martini party with his cold but graceful ex-wife, I occasionally have the feeling, while sipping a martini at some swank hotel bar, surrounded by slick beauties in fishnets and men in elegant pants, that I’d much rather be elsewhere: drinking cold beer at a fish fry. And like The Moviegoer—Walker Percy’s unforgettable tale of soul-searching, polite society, and secretarial lust in New Orleans, which I have carried with me to places as far-flung as Reykjavík and Beijing just to have a taste of home in my backpack—The Bear Bryant Funeral Train serves as a kind of uneasy reminder of the landscape and culture I left behind. Uneasy because it holds no tidy answers to racism or poverty or, in fact, the demagoguery of its title story, nor does it offer up quaint suggestions of mint-julep-infused yarn-spinning on wraparound porches. And yet, reading these stories, I cannot help wondering what it would be like to hear them on just such a porch, holding just such a drink in my hand, tasting the mint and the cool, slippery ice. In this happy fantasy I am barefoot and wearing one of those summer dresses Irwin Shaw was so fond of. One does not often go barefoot or wear summer dresses in my adopted hometown of San Francisco.
Which is to say that there are so many different lives we can choose, and no matter how well-suited we are to the one we end up with, there’s no banishing the longing for the one we turned away from. There are places a person can leave without feeling some regret, but I’m not sure you can ever leave your childhood home without, one day, feeling the sting of it....

Again the whole thing is linked here.


Blogger Kevin Bussey said...

I saw your bio. I used to live in Rome, GA and coached football at Pepperell. I'm also a big Bama fan. :)

5:22 PM  

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