Resurrecting Grizzard January 31, 2021

Published by the Times-Georgian–January 30, 2021

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

The concession stand ran out of hot dogs at halftime.

As I chatted with the man who stood in line in front of me about how much he loved traveling to the Ole Miss campus and it’s wonderful Southern atmosphere, we heard one of the workers declare—“I’m sorry everyone, but we’re out of hot dogs.”

That’s when the man in front of me walked to the counter and delivered an exceptional sermon to the Mississippi folks serving snacks and beverages.

“Here we are in one of the great places in the Southeastern Conference,” said the man. “A place where men dress up and girls in the stadium look like they’re going to a Southern ball. And you’re telling me you’re out of hot dogs.”

Then, he closed the sermon in a way that reminded me of Gregory Peck in “To Kill a Mockingbird—”

“I want you all to know that it’s a sin to run out of hot dogs at an SEC football game.”

I couldn’t help but smile as the man walked away. He wasn’t just a fan of SEC football and hot dogs. He was Lewis Grizzard.

Twenty-seven years have passed since he died, but actor Bill Oberst, Jr. reprises his role of Moreland, Georgia’s greatest citizen on Thursday, February 4 at the Carrollton Center for Performing Arts. The one-man play called “Tribute to Lewis Grizzard” is sponsored by Moe’s Southwest Grill and the family of Mike Steed begins at 7:30 p.m. Tickets are $20 and can be purchased online at cprcad.myboxoffice.us, by phone at (770) 838-1083 or at the Center for the Arts box office at 251 Alabama Street in Carrollton.

“When I first saw this show for the first time in 1999, I couldn’t believe how within just a few minutes Oberst transformed himself into Lewis,” said former syndicated columnist Mike Steed of Bowdon who died last year. “He even wears Grizzard’s actual Gucci loafers, a pair of his eye glasses and one of his golf shirts.”

Steed and Grizzard met on the Ansley Park Golf Club and became close friends for many years.

“Lewis used to love to flirt with the waitresses so I decided to play a trick on him,” said Steed. “While we were on a golf trip to Ireland, I told him I learned an Irish Gaelic phrase he could use to impress an Irish female.”

“Lewis, the next time you see that pretty waitress just look her in the eye and say—‘Pog Ma Thoin!’” Steed said to Grizzard. “It’s an Irish way of saying ‘You look so lovely.’

“In reality this phrase means ‘Kiss my…well, let’s just say an area of the body that rhymes with grass,’” continued Steed. “When the waitress returned to the table, Lewis looked at the lovely waitress with a smile and was ready to showoff his newfound skill of romantic Irish Gaelic words when he slowly uttered to her—‘Poggggg Maaaa Thoinnnn!’ The angry look on her face was priceless and we all laughed until our stomachs hurt.”

Personally, my favorite experience around Grizzard was when I approached him while he stood alone inhaling a cigarette near the concession stand at Clemson University’s Memorial Stadium in 1990.

“Are you Lewis Grizzard?” I asked.

“I sure am,” he replied as he inhaled. “And you are?”

I introduced myself and told him about standing in line for two hours to meet him at a book signing two years earlier.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You came to one of my book signings? Well, God bless you.”

“We share something in common,” I told him. “I worked for Dan Magill as a student assistant in the athletic department.”

“You worked for Dan?” he said with a smile. “The next time you see him, tell Dan he taught me everything I know.”

I knew he wasn’t joking. In his 1981 best-selling book “Don’t Sit Under the Grits Tree with Anyone Else But Me,” Grizzard, who also worked for Magill while a student at UGA, wrote an entire chapter about our mutual mentor. He simply titled the chapter “Magill.”

For the next few minutes, I told him about a project I completed in one of my journalism classes where I had to create an advertising campaign to sell a collection of his first four books.

“You did an assignment on me?” he asked surprisingly. “How did it go?”

“I made an A,” I told him.

“Can you send it to me?” he asked. “I’d love to see it.”

“I’m not sure if I kept it, but if I didn’t throw it away like I do most of my homework projects—I’ll make sure to send it to you,” I told him.

Unfortunately, I obviously threw it in a trash can somewhere in Athens and never had an opportunity to send it to him.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Lewis,” I said as I departed. “Hopefully, the Dawgs can come back in the second half and win this game.”

“Don’t count on it,” he replied. “We look terrible.”

Another one of Magill’s former mentees was my friend and former roommate Mark Parkman from Carrollton and grandson of the late Times-Georgian publisher Stanley Parkman. His experience around Grizzard was definitely more memorable.

“I was working a golf tournament as a student when everyone at the event had left except me, a few of my co-workers, former Georgia football star Jake Scott and Grizzard,” said Parkman. “They had started playing poker and needed another person so I jumped in the game. I didn’t know how to play poker, and it didn’t go well as Jake Scott started being less than patient with my inexperience.”

That’s when Grizzard stood up for Parkman.

“Shut up, Jake,” Grizzard told Scott. “He’s just a kid.”

That’s when Grizzard reached into his pocket and handed Parkman a $20 bill.

“Do you mind going to pick us up some Krystal burgers?” Grizzard asked him.

Parkman obliged, and returned with about 40 of the gut bombers.

“When I handed the Krystal burgers to Grizzard, he graciously reached into his pocket and handed me another $20 as a tip,” said Parkman. “I guess you could say my first experience on a poker table resulted in a winning hand—or, at least, better than my time at the table with Jake.”

When Grizzard died the congregation sang “Precious Memories” at his funeral and the AJC decided to eliminate humorist columnists from its pages altogether. It’s no wonder subscriptions have declined significantly as journalism has shifted to seriousness leaving readers without the antidote of an occasional good belly laugh that’s good for the soul.

“I often think about all of the great topics from Monica Lewinsky to recent elections he never got to write about,” said Steed. “I really miss him. He would often call me at 11 o’clock at night and say, ‘Mike, I need your help. I have nothing to write about and my column is due tomorrow.’ I miss those brainstorming sessions. And I miss his brilliant wit.”

I do too.

Political theatre January 31, 2021

Published by the Times-Georgian–January 16, 2021

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

It turned ugly.

That wasn’t the intention but as we all know—there’s nothing easy about politics, especially when conspiracy theories are involved.

“There are three things we all should never discuss in public if we want to avoid conflict,” said local fact-checking and political expert Matt Carter. “Religion, politics and whether or not coffee should be included in red-eyed gravy after frying a pack of country ham.”

Therefore, I’ve decided to follow his advice and avoid religion and red-eyed gravy. However, when it comes to studying history to improve our present disgruntlement with politics, I believe in serving my country with the truth and avoiding fake news.

You see, it all started many years ago when a local sheriff was on the verge of receiving a major job offer to move to Raleigh, North Carolina for the big time. The new opportunity would also open the door for the sheriff to travel and to live in other parts of the world.

His name was Andy Taylor and he lived in a town close to Mount Pilot called Mayberry.

As a result of his potential move, Sheriff Taylor decided to withdraw his name from seeking reelection. That’s when he encouraged his fearless deputy, who carried a pistol with one bullet stored in his left shirt pocket named Barney Fife, to run for sheriff.

Unfortunately, Andy didn’t land the job and was stuck in Mayberry with his name left off the ballot after he failed to register for the upcoming election before the deadline.

Thankfully, Barney started a local write-in campaign so Andy could continue serving as sheriff. The only problem was Barney’s name would remain on the ballot. That’s when things would get difficult, especially after Barney’s girlfriend Thelma Lou stated she wanted Andy to win.

Barney’s pride was hurt.

“My private polls indicate a big swing in your direction,” Barney confessed to Andy.

“Oh, well that’s probably because you haven’t been doing any campaigning for yourself,” replied Andy. “There’s no question about that.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking that in the interest of a democratic form of government, the people really ought to have a choice of more than one candidate,” stated Fife.

“Oh yes, they should have a choice,” suggested Andy. “You know the way we’ve been conducting this campaign is really not good for the community. I think you ought to go out and stir up some votes for yourself and make a real contest out of it.”

Barney accepted Andy’s advice and then began a nasty political campaign.

It didn’t go well for Barney as most of the local businesses refused to put Barney’s campaign posters in their windows and they also declined to make any political financial contributions with the exception of the local barber named Floyd Lawson who offered a free haircut instead of money.

Floyd’s offer insulted Barney. That’s when Sheriff Taylor called Floyd to his office to discuss the situation.

“That’s not the point Floyd,” Andy lectured Floyd about why he should hang one of Barney’s campaign posters at his barbershop. “Barney, in spite of little things like getting carried away with himself and going off the deep end, is a very proud and sensitive person. Now don’t you say a word to Barney about me telling you about putting up a poster.”

Finally, Barney confronted the sheriff when he learned Andy talked behind his back to Floyd.

“You don’t think I know a conspiracy theory when I see one,” demanded Barney. “I challenge you to a debate.”

The town hall was packed with Mayberry citizens as Floyd served as moderator.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have here 76 documented cases of malfeasance in the sheriff’s office,” Barney argued as he held up a briefcase holding his evidence. “However, due to the pressures of time—I will discuss only three.

“Malfeasance number one: traffic in this town is completely out of control,” shouted Barney. “Jaywalking is rampant. Malfeasance number two: your sheriff has not kept up with the times…We have no tear gas. We have no submachine guns. And as for emergency equipment, do you know what the sheriff carries in the trunk of his squad car? A shovel and a rake.”

Andy sat still while Barney’s accusations about the trunk of the sheriff’s car disturbed local town mechanic Goober Pyle—

“Ain’t you got a jack?” he whispered to Andy.

“Malfeasance number three: are you aware that your sheriff who is responsible for protecting your lives and your property carries no gun,” Barney argues. “I ask you to dwell on these things for a moment—is this good government?”

Tempers began to rise. Barney’s comments even disturbed Andy’s beloved Aunt Bea as she shouted to crowd—“Call him a rabble rouser!”

Finally, Andy addressed the audience.

“Barney’s right about the traffic,” began Andy. “People do park in the wrong places and cross the street in the wrong places. But it’s such a small town I don’t believe there’s been an accident here in the last five years.

“And it is true we don’t have any emergency equipment to speak of—I mean no machine guns or tear gas or anything like that,” Andy continued. “There hasn’t been a need for it. And it’s true I don’t wear a gun that often. I always thought we got along well enough that it wasn’t necessary. Well, I’ve been sheriff a long time and either you’re satisfied with me or you’re not. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

His speech moved Barney.

“Well, I don’t know about you folks,” Barney stood and addressed the crowd, “but I was satisfied with Mr. Taylor’s answers and well—I’m voting for Andy.”

Of course, this story is fictional but I wonder if we could all learn a little from it?

“Andy gives citizens of Mayberry protection from the outside world,” writes John Baldoni in a piece titled “Five Leadership Lessons from 1960s Mayberry, N.C.” “But when he wasn’t searching for lawbreakers he was serving as an example of how to uphold the law with an even hand, a cool temperament and a sense of humor. Leaders with power need to use it with discretion. Often you can accomplish more by demonstrating control rather than exerting it. That is, project authority and maintain sense of control by remaining cool and calm in the face of adversity.”

By the way—Andy wasn’t perfect. He actually was wrong about five years since the last accident in Mayberry. Two years earlier, a visitor from England named Malcolm Merriweather was traveling through town and caused $40 worth of damage in a downtown car crash.

In the bigger picture, however, Barney had the courage to drop his guard and accepted he wasn’t always right. He realized he was defeated, admitted it, shook hands with Andy and continued to work for the collective good of his community.

Now that’s something worth whistling about.

Glory, glory Uncle Bob January 10, 2021

Published by the Times-Georgian–January 9, 2021

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

He was a giant.

Even though he stood 6’4”, his broad shoulders stretched from Bowdon to Tallapoosa making his physical frame appear bigger than John Wayne walking into a Texas saloon. When I was a child, he would pick me up with one hand, toss me in the air and catch me with his other hand. I giggled the entire time while my mother yelled—“Bobby, you’re gonna kill Joe if you don’t put him down.”

He was a typical older brother to my mother and her sister—playing practical jokes and always picking on them. As they grew older, he always had their backs.

I loved Uncle Bob.

He wasn’t only a giant in physical structure. He had a giant personality.

“It never failed whenever we went out to eat in a restaurant and were seated next to someone we didn’t know, my family would place side bets to see how long he could go before he struck up a conversation,” said his daughter Lynda. “He never met a stranger.”

Sometimes I wonder how his life would have turned out differently if his football coach at Woodland High School wouldn’t have been so strict about working in the fields to help support the family and playing football. He told Uncle Bob he had to pick one.

Across the state line, Bowdon High School welcomed Uncle Bob with open arms. He didn’t have to choose one or the other. He could have the best of the both worlds—that is, if you consider working in the fields enjoyable.

The family decided to change addresses and moved to a farm on Garrett Creek Road on the outskirts of Bowdon where his daddy plowed the fields with an old mule. The new environment would pay off for Uncle Bob as he starred for the Red Devils on both sides of the ball for four years of high school.

“We played side-by-side on the offensive line,” said his friend and Bowdon High classmate Tom Upchurch. “Before his junior year, Bobby enlisted in the Marine Corp Reserve and spent the summer at Paris Island. When he returned two days before football practice started, he came back in shape and was a man among boys. That’s when he caught the eye of college coaches.”

Clemson offered Uncle Bob an opportunity to play across the state line. The school’s ROTC program was a draw for him; however, Clemson decided to end the program before he would sign. That’s when University of Georgia assistant coach “Big” Jim Whatley pursued Uncle Bob and offered him a full scholarship which he accepted.

His days of working in the fields had come to an end.

While playing alongside Bulldog football greats Fran Tarkenton and Pat Dye, Uncle Bob almost didn’t survive the first week of practice.

“I got into a fight the very first day with an upper classman on the practice field,” Uncle Bob once said. “After practice, I heard my name called that Head Coach Wally Butts wanted to see me.”

Uncle Bob thought he was going to get kicked off the team.

“Was that you out there today I saw fighting on the football field?” Coach Butts asked him. “Who started it?”

“Well, he was saying some things to me so I stood up for myself,” said Uncle Bob.

“Good for you,” said Coach Butts. “I tell you what—if he does it again tomorrow, I want you to pop him in the mouth again. I think if we can put some more pounds on you along with your work ethic, we’re gonna make a football player out of you.”

Those were the days when football helmets had only one bar as a face mask.

“The next day—that ole boy started running his mouth again and I popped him so hard his nose spewed blood all over me,” said Uncle Bob. “And Coach Butts stood back laughing and let me and that older classman go at it for a few minutes.”

It would payoff as his future was bright on the line of scrimmage for the Bulldogs, especially in front of a sold-out crowd in 1961 against the Kentucky Wildcats. The morning after the big win the front page headline of the Lexington Herald read—“Georgia nips fumbling Cats 16-15.”

“The Kentucky Wildcats fumbled away what potentially was their best season since 1954 and bowed to the Georgia Bulldogs 16-15 before an estimated homecoming crowd of 31,000 in Sanford Stadium today,” wrote Lexington Herald sports writer Winfield Letbers in the opening lead. “Kentucky fumbled seven times and lost six of them. Georgia converted two of the bobbles into touchdowns, including one by right tackle Bobby Green, who recovered a Jerry Woolum fumble in the endzone, for the clinching score with 2:44 left in the game.”

Following his graduation from UGA, Uncle Bob served as manager for the Atlanta Athletic Club, Sunset Hills Country Club and the Pinnacle Club in Augusta, Georgia. While working at the country club in Carrollton, Georgia during the 1960s, his toughness even paid off to keep a horse from going near the golf course.

“We lived close to Sunset Hills and I was with my dad at work when someone informed him our horse named Little Joe had escaped from his fence at our house,” said Lynda. “So, we finally found the horse and Dad told me to grab his harness and we would walk him home. Little Joe had other plans and took off while I flew into the air holding onto him.

“It was the first time I ever saw my dad scared,” continued Lynda. “Finally, he caught up with the horse and punched Little Joe right in the nose so hard it fell back on its haunches. When we arrived home, my mother asked him—‘What in the world has happened?’ Dad replied, ‘I wasn’t going to let that horse hurt my little girl.’”

In 1973, Uncle Bob received a call from the late Lamar Plunkett offering him a job to take the Texas territory for Bowdon Manufacturing. The suit industry was hot. And for the next 30 years, he would become one of the company’s top salesmen.

It was always a great experience whenever Uncle Bob, Aunt Beverly, Lynda and their son Bill would come home every summer. Maw Maw always cooked meals as though the King of England was arriving even though it was only her son and his family. Then again, I bet even the King didn’t eat as well because it’s doubtful he ate fried okra cooked from a black iron skillet along with creamed corn, fresh tomatoes, green beans, stewed potatoes and hot corn bread whenever he went to his momma’s house for supper.

Maw Maw’s cooking skills would serve Uncle Bob well. After he retired from the clothing industry, he moved back to Carroll County where he and his son Bill opened one of our greatest local restaurants—Billy Bob’s BBQ.

It was a perfect setup for Bobby as he greeted every customer who walked into the restaurant as if they were visiting his home. I hate Maw Maw, who died in 1996 only one year before Uncle Bob opened the restaurant, never had a chance to eat there. I know she would have been proud.

“My dad coached me in little league football and he was tough,” said his son Bill. “But off the field he always offered me words of advice and encouragement. I was thrilled when we decided to become business partners and open Billy Bob’s BBQ where we’ve worked alongside my mom Beverly, my wife Leanne and our great staff. We were more than business partners and father and son—we were best friends going to Georgia football games together, and I lost that at the end of the year. I lost my hero.”

It’s hard not to be proud of my Uncle Bobby Green. Lord knows he wasn’t perfect—just ask that horse named Little Joe. But he truly loved people. And people loved him.

He loved telling stories (some are actually true) and he loved his family, his friends and his customers. Underneath his large frame was a giant heart and an old soul.

“One of the things I know about Bobby that a lot of people don’t know is that he was a giver,” said Upchurch. “He could have written the book on how to give to others. I know first-hand how he helped so many people in need that nobody ever knew about. He was a great citizen.”

Recently, a few days before Christmas, Uncle Bob became sick and was diagnosed with Covid. It would be his biggest opponent yet. Last year had already taken a toll on him as he had to stay away from the restaurant longer than he liked. He loved hugging people and shaking hands—and he missed those things. As we all know—those activities don’t qualify as social distancing.

Uncle Bob died a few days after Christmas. He fought as hard as he could but the coronavirus is wicked.

There will never be another Bobby Green. As they say in Bowdon, “Old Red Devils never die, never die, never die—they just fade away.”

Maybe so but his absence will be felt.

We can’t bring him back, but by golly we can still go eat at his restaurant, tell old stories, yell “Go Dawgs” and enjoy his delicious banana pudding and Brunswick stew.

That’s what Uncle Bob would want us to do.

A love letter to remember January 10, 2021

Published by the Times-Georgian–January 2, 2021

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

It was the year of the rat.

Oh, those annoying creatures that crawl through the cracks to find a warm spot or even an occasional bite of cheese. They’re constantly finding a way into a home where they’re uninvited and if they’re smart—they’ll avoid poison, traps and alley cats.

I’ve always run from them at any cost, and last January a phone call stopped me in my tracks.

“Happy new year, Joe,” said my friend Camille Yahm. “My husband Stuart and I want to invite you and Ali to dinner at our house to celebrate the Chinese New Year.”

I knew Camille’s story of how she spent a year at Yale University studying Mandarin Chinese alongside her classmate and former United States Senator Jay Rockefeller before moving overseas to serve as a United Methodist missionary in China from 1962 through 1971.

“I’m going to prepare an authentic Chinese meal, and I hope you and Ali enjoy that type of food,” she continued. “One of the customs is to cook and serve the animal that represents the year on the Chinese Zodiac Calendar. So, when it was the Year of the Pig, I cooked pork. When it was the Year of the Rooster, I cooked chicken.”

“So, what’s the animal of 2020?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s the rat,” she replied, and then paused for what felt like 10 minutes.

My stomach started stirring, and my blood pressure began to rise. How could I politely decline? I’ve eaten a frog’s leg, an alligator and even a lamb’s tongue. But there was no way I was going to eat a rat.

“Hahahaha,” she started laughing. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to dare try to cook a rat.”

“Whew,” I replied. “We will be there.”

For dinner, she prepared homemade egg rolls, Singapore curry with rice and green beans cooked stir-fry with condiments to cool down the heat. We concluded our meal with tapioca and a crispy, sweet dessert known as “love letters” made of a batter from coconut milk, rice and tapioca flour as well as some eggs and sugar.

I’m in awe of those folks like Camille and Stuart who teach us how to live. In her 82 years, she’s traveled to so many places, read so many books and has a passion for life that’s more contagious than the spread of the coronavirus. A graduate of Ole Miss, Camille’s life of service eventually led her to settle in Carroll County when she accepted a position at KidsPeace in Bowdon when it first started.

Stuart grew up in the Bronx and even told me he was in the stands during Game 1 of the 1954 World Series at the Polo Grounds where he witnessed Willie Mays make “the catch” that lives in baseball infamy. At the age of 21, he hosted and performed as a stand-up comic on USO tours with Marilyn Monroe before moving to Hollywood for a lead role in a television show that was cancelled by the time he arrived. He eventually found his calling as a promotion executive with Capitol Records in Los Angeles where he rubbed elbows with some of the top entertainers of the 20^th century including Franki Valli, Roy Clark, Pink Floyd, Billy Joel, the Beatles, The Righteous Brothers and many more.

“I never actually knew if he was telling me the truth when we first started dating because his stories sounded too good to be true,” said Camille. “Finally, he took me to Los Angeles and as we were walking into the Beverly Hills Hotel, legendary music producer Clive Davis was walking out the door and stopped and said, ‘Hey Stuart—how are you? It’s been too long.’ I guess I had to believe him after that encounter.”

Gold records hang throughout their home from his time in the music industry. Photos, paintings and little trinkets adorn tables and walls that showcase their travels and a life well-lived.

We ate every bite of our meal. And we toasted the new year. Little did we know how our world would change in only a few days following that evening as we learned about something called the Coronavirus that experts predicted could rival or surpass the 1918 Spanish flu. And of all places, the pandemic is still believed to have originated from—you guessed it, China.

It’s easy to say “good riddance” to such a year as 2020. Since that evening, my wife lost her father to cancer and 87-year-old Stuart has had to spend the holidays in a long-term care facility due to illness hopefully returning home soon. It’s easy to feel depressed during these times from the profound losses and changes in our lives.

And yet—there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“Don’t cry because it’s over,” wrote Dr. Seuss. “Smile because it happened.”

It’s now 2021, and the year of the rat has demised. Now, it’s time to look ahead as we begin the year of the ox—a sign of strength, confidence, stability and even a little stubbornness.

And if Camille should ever invite us to dinner again, I won’t hesitate to answer. Unlike the rat, I’m not afraid to eat an ox.