Give me that ol’ time religion August 25, 2019

Published by the Times-Georgian–August 24, 2019

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

Would Jesus wear hair grease?

It’s one of the many things I’ve been pondering since I saw the Gaithers in concert recently at Mill Town Music Hall in Bremen. The longtime gospel quartet led by Bill Gaither has been entertaining audiences worldwide since 1959.

I’ve never thought I had the talent to sing in a gospel group, and I blame that on not using enough hair gel. Furthermore, I also blame it on my mother and daddy. They didn’t give me the genetics needed for true gospel hair. I’m starting to go bald on top of my head and no longer have the credentials to go on tour. Instead, I’ll have to revert to joining a rock band.

I think Jesus will understand. He tends to be more lenient with Episcopalians and Methodists.

Music is in my soul. It always has been. I can be equally happy whether I’m watching Lionel Richie sing “Easy like Sunday morning,” John Mayer play a Grateful Dead song, Hootie jam with the Blowfish, Terry Lowry lead the Carroll County Symphony or Merle Haggard croon “I turned 21 in prison doing life without parole, but no one could steer me right but my Momma tried, Momma tried.”

In our house growing up, my brothers and I never woke up to an alarm on Sunday morning. We didn’t need one. My dad cranked the television volume as loud as he could at exactly 8 a.m. With a glass of orange juice in one hand and a newspaper in the other, he tapped his feet to the music of the Gospel Singing Jubilee show.

“Jubilee, jubilee—you’re invited to this happy jubilee,” the high tenor of The Florida Boys sang each week to open the show that aired during the 1960s and 1970s.

“What does jubilee mean anyway?” I asked local Southern Gospel expert Matt Carter.

“A lot of people consider it praise,” said Carter. “It’s really a celebration of hair salve and spray.”

Les Beasley, the lead singer of The Florida Boys, hosted the show filled with such talented gospel singers and quartets as the Happy Goodman Family, Dixie Echoes, J.D. Sumner and the Stamps Quartet, Rosie Rozell and The Searchers.

All of the groups had great hair, but J.D. Sumner and the Stamps had “street cred.” They performed with Elvis.

I confirmed my hair theory by witnessing some of these groups in person. In 1980 (or somewhere within a year or two), my dad purchased tickets to see The Happy Goodman Family and The Florida Boys at the old Franklin Country Music Park. It would finally give us a chance to see Vestal Goodman’s 7-foot beehive hairdo in person.

“It actually looked 9-foot in person,” said my friend the Reverend Gil McGinnis, who attended the concert that night with my family.

The autumn wind blew through the old outdoor venue as we watched The Florida Boys croon, “I can almost hear the singing. I can almost hear them praying at them old camp ground meetings eating chicken on the ground, on the ground.”

Not one time did any of the quartet’s hair fall out of place.

Fast forward to 2019 and the only thing I noticed about the new gospel quartet that’s different is they all wear skinny suits and obviously eat a lot of kale and tofu instead of fried chicken. Bill Gaither’s new quartet has zero body fat.

“There’s no way any of those would have made the cut when Happy Goodman was running the show,” said Reverend McGinnis. “Those old gospel singers, like me, loved to eat.”

Yet when it comes to hair, my faith continues to believe there’s a bright future ahead for these guys despite the fact I was the second youngest in the room (and I’m a half-century old).

Before the show, my dad and I had the opportunity to go backstage and meet Bill Gaither thanks to my friend Steven Hill who provided the tickets. Gaither was a genuine man and still has energy to perform at the age of 83. The former high school English teacher who felt a bigger calling, Gaither, along with his wife Gloria, are arguably the two main forces in keeping that old-time gospel jubilee still alive.

“Did you get a good look at his hair when we shook his hand?” I asked my dad before the concert. “Not one strand out was of place. There’s no way if Mill Town cranks up the air conditioning any rush of wind can move it.”

So, back to my question—would Jesus wear hair grease?

I’ve concluded if he comes back as a high tenor, he won’t have a choice.

 

Homeruns and hamburgers August 25, 2019

Published by the Times-Georgian–August 10, 2019

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

We waited until the end of the second inning.

After Julio Teheran popped out to Cincinnati first baseman Joey Votto, I looked at my dad and asked—“Do you want a hamburger, hot dog or barbecue?”

“I don’t care,” he answered. “Just get me whatever you want.”

I stood up and then he reached into his pocket.

“I’m buying,” he said as he handed me a $20 bill.

I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

For the next few minutes I scoured the concession stand lines at the Atlanta Braves new home Suntrust Park. They were all long except the line to buy a H&F Burger.

“No special orders,” the sign read.

“Thank God,” I said to myself. “That should keep the line moving so I’m back in my seat before the Braves bat in the third inning.”

There’re only a few things better in life than the smell of a greasy hamburger on the griddle, but not many.

This little stand knows how to prepare a burger developed by Atlanta celebrity chef Linton Hopkins. It consists of a double cheeseburger, topped with grilled red onions and house-made pickles served with made-from-scratch ketchup, mustard and a homemade bun that’s ten times better than the ones from Sunbeam. And I like Sunbeam bread.

“That’ll be $34,” the cashier told me.

On my way back to my seat, the yellow Waffle House sign cart caught my eye. The sign read “$5 for double hash browns.”

“What the heck,” I said to myself, and then walked to the counter and placed an order.

I arrived back in my seat in time to watch Ronald Acuna lead off the bottom of the third inning. He struck out.

“They have a Waffle House here?” my dad asked.

“We’re a long away from the days at Fulton County Stadium,” I replied.

“How much did all of that cost you?” my dad, the retired CPA who calculates every item to the penny, asked me after he took the first bite of his hamburger.

“Well, the hamburgers were $13 each, the two bottled waters cost $8 and the Waffle House hash browns were the best bargain for $5,” I answered.

“That hamburger cost $13?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “And a gallon of gas is cheaper than 20 ounces of bottled water.”

“Well, looks like I didn’t give you enough money,” he said and then paused for about 10 seconds. “It’s a good hamburger.”

For the next two hours we watched each pitch and even saw the Braves come from behind when Acuna launched a two-run homer to tie the game in the ninth to send the game into extra innings.

It would not end on a good note when I heard my dad make a grumbling noise that sounded something like “awwwwshhhhoooo” as Cincinnati catcher Tucker Barnhart crushed a three-run homer to right center field to seal the victory for the Reds.

“Do you want any ice cream?” I asked my dad before we left.

“I’ll pass,” he said.

 

 

On the road August 4, 2019

Published by the Times-Georgian–August 3, 2019

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

I’m sitting on a bench in Cape Neddick overlooking the rocky Maine coastline surrounded by little birds and butterflies.

My guess is they think I need a little company this morning.

It’s beautiful here. I feel like imitating the late CBS correspondent Charles Kuralt as I write this column.

Even Kuralt, himself, admitted to such desire—“I could tell you which writer’s rhythms I am imitating. It’s not exactly plagiarism. It’s falling in love with good language and trying to imitate it.”

I’ve been longing for a trip to Maine since I read Kuralt’s book “America” almost 24 years ago. It’s the area where lobsters swim in the Atlantic’s cold New England waters, lighthouses still cast signals to protect sailors through the night and every summer welcomes an abundance of wild blueberries.

Our northeastern state that borders Canada has a slogan splashed on signs along the highways that greets its guests, “Welcome to Maine—The Way Life Should Be.”

Nowhere is that more evident when I called various restaurants to book a reservation and multiple times the host started laughing.

“You’re in Maine,” one of the hosts said. “There is no dress code.”

While staying in the small, quaint town of Bar Harbor the last two and a half days, I awoke each morning to ride my bicycle from our hotel to complete the 20-plus mile loop around Acadia National Park.

I wanted to sleep late, yet the words of a Maple Street park bench on the Carrollton GreenBelt donated by the local Sunday Morning Gospel Bike Ride Group inspired me to do otherwise—

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To stay balanced you must keep moving.”

After completing 2,962 feet of climbing the Cadillac Mountain summit ride, the highest point along the North Atlantic seaboard, my legs told me it was time to do something else.

Suddenly I felt like Kuralt when he wrote, “I didn’t get over my boat dream the whole time I was in Maine. I’m not over it yet. I am drawn to shipyards and anchorages wherever I go. If there’s a bit of a breeze, the sound of a halyard slapping a mast arouses a great yearning in me.”

Later my family took Kuralt’s words to task as we boarded the 151-foot Margaret Todd, Maine’s only four-masted schooner in over a half a century to sail around the nearby islands.

For a moment, I suddenly left this world’s problems ashore while the schooner rocked in the tranquility of the water and the peaceful natural music of the masts flapped overhead. It was exactly, as Kuralt described a similar scene when the engine shuts down and the wind hits the masts, “one of life’s sweetest moments.”

To understand Maine, one must first understand its people. Our education started with our local cab driver Joy.

“I’ve lived here my whole life and grew up in the neighborhood over there,” she said as she drove us to dinner. “From November until the end of the April, half of the population leaves the rest of us here to endure the harsh winter. Personally, I enjoy the break from the crowds.”

“There’s the town’s largest employer which employs about 1,400 people and sustains the economy during the off-season,” Joy pointed again along our drive. “The facility breeds disease-free white mice used to investigate the genetic basis of cancer and other diseases.”

I couldn’t help but think of this summer paradise turning into a frozen Hades for anyone who stays to endure the brutal, cold winter months and of all things, going to work every day with white mice.

Furthermore, I also met 90-year old Bill Thomson, a fourth generation Maine resident, who spent 35 years teaching New England History at Salem University. During his professorship, he wrote 26 books and through his knowledge of lighthouses and Maine history he has appeared on several TV stations nationwide, including the PBS series “Legendary Lighthouse” and in shows on the Learning Channel and Discovery Channel.

Since he retired in 1995, Bill has become a well-known artist of lighthouse paintings along the Maine coast. He has created prints of his paintings where he personalizes by sketching any family name to the bow of the sailing vessel he includes in each rendering.

“If you noticed while I sketched your name on the bow, I penned each letter backwards,” Bill told me after he personalized a print for my family. “People ask me, ‘Bill, why do write backwards?’ I always reply, “Because I’m from Maine. We do everything backwards here and don’t get caught up in all of the day-to-day stuff that goes on in the other states. It’s our way of life here.”

When we left Bar Harbor, we stopped on the outskirts of town for a farewell lunch. One doesn’t find a restaurant in this area. He finds a pound, a lobster pound. Most of these local joints bare a strong resemblance to Carrollton’s Big Chic surrounded by picnic tables and with an order-at-the-counter atmosphere rather than white tablecloth dining.

I ordered a whole lobster. And within a minute of cracking its tail, I shunned the bib tied around my neck. It was as if Kuralt was whispering in my ear when he wrote—“I feel that once a human being has outgrown a highchair, he’s outgrown a bib, too; therefore, I eschew the bib and always end up with melted butter on my shirt.”

The waves crash against the rocks as I write these words. It’s no wonder the famous American painter Winslow Homer chose the coast of Maine about 55 miles north of where I’m sitting now to basically become a hermit and work magic with watercolors and a paint brush.

I think if I ever become a hermit, I will choose the coast of Maine, too.

In the meantime, I’ve got too much of Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, Kuralt and other writers living in my veins. I want to travel, meet people and know them on a deeper level. Hopefully, Carrollton will always be my port while my children grow. Yet along the way I hope to set sail a few days out of the year and experience places I’ve never seen.

As another bench on the GreenBelt reminds me, “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.”

While I gaze into the deep blue ocean water below the steep cliffs, nature reminds me all it takes is one split-second crushing wave to turn one’s life upside down.

And still—here they are—butterflies and birds still flutter and flap their wings only a few feet away.

I love when these precious souls pay me a visit, especially on a warm summer morning in Maine.

The folks are right here. That’s the way life should be.