Book Report on From a Buick 8 by Stephen King.

It is pretty good. It is about a car looking thing that must be from outer space. There is not a lot of blood and guts in this book. It seems that most of the dialog in this book takes place on the outside smokers’ bench of a Pennsylvania State Patrol barracks.

The book pretty much plays on the same violin that the movie Blair Witch Project played. It is what you don’t know is the scariest.

I thought Stephen King did some excellent character studies of real-like people in the book, in a laid back kind of style.

Not bad.

Forget, Hell!

Remember the old cartoon of the short guy with a white beard and a Rebel flag saying, "Forget, Hell!"? I think I remember that was a best selling logo on Zippo Cigarette Lighters (guaranteed for life).

Today I saw a short parade with a whole unit of those little men.




Thursday was officially Confederate Memorial Day. But, that was a week day - so it was best wait until a day on the weekend for their parade to draw a bigger crowd of on lookers. And today would even be better because of the big crowd that came to A Taste Of Marietta.



Unfortunately, the parade was about two blocks for the multitude of people at a Taste of Marietta. I don't think most of them were even aware of the parade.

But we did. We read in the paper about it, so about 1:30 we ran down to see it. On the block we were standing on I doubt if they had over 6 parade watchers.




It was a very short parade, only about 4 clumps of a few marchers, ashiny plush car and a pickup truck with a sign on it.



I think the sign is telling about William T. Sherman who is accused of using live Confederate prisoners to walk ahead of his men on his march to Savanannah. The purpose of the prisoners to walk ahead - In case they were any land mines.

A Taste of Marietta

A sea of people and booths with food. That was today at the Square in downtown Marietta. Above you are looking at the West Park Square. It was the same on two of the other sides.

The east side was opened for traffic passing through.

We tried several things. There is a new Cajun restaurant in Marietta and they were showing off their alligator stew. I thought it was pretty tasty (it doesn't taste like chicken).

A lot of people, you could hardly move. Of the multitudes of people I saw only three people I know, a cousin, and an old friend (we don't speak anymore), and a Postal carrier I used to work with - which we are almost related. We are related to the same people.

The House through the School Window

A couple of postings back were some pictures of Waterman Street School. While telling about behind the school I told about a big colonel style house that we could see from the school’s windows.

Here is that house, from the opposing view.

The Frazier family lived in it at one time and another time the Fletcher family lived in it. Beauty From the Ashes is a fictional novel written by Eugenia Price based on when the Frasure family lived in the house.

I am not positive, but I believe from the 1920s until the at least the time I was at Waterman Street School looking threw the windows at the house the family of Frank M. and his wife Fleta Barclay Trammell Boston owned and lived in the house.

Fleta Barclay Trammell was the daughter of Leander Newton Trammell. Leander was once the Governor of Georgia for one day, for technical reasons – a day between two governors kind of thing – pro tem? I am related to these Trammells, we share a common ancestors. It just occurred to me while typing this Fleta’s middle name was Barclay. This may be far-fetched, but I see a possibility that is why Barclay Circle of Mareitta is so named. As I said before the house was also owned by the Fletcher family.

Another book, Dairy of a Landlady by Louise Fletcher, the tells of downtown Marietta during the Civil War time, activities of the Kennesaw House, and their summer home on Barclay Circle. This book was a limited number of copies printed, it was available at the Marietta History Museum.


Kennesaw House (photo by Rocky Hunter)

The Fletcher family owned the Kennesaw House hotel in Marietta in Civil War times. They owned it when Andrews’ Raiders stayed there and stole The General (Great Locomotive Chase) the next day…. Anyway, to make a long story short, the Fletchers had a summer home on Barclay Circle where they stayed when Sherman took over Marietta in 1864.

Fleta Barclay Trammell was named so because that was her mother’s maiden name. And the Fletchers owned the summer home on Barclay Circle about 40 years before. So, how could Barclay Circle named so at least 40 years before Frank Boston’s wife Fleta Barclay Trammell came along? – well, I don’t know yet. But, I see there might be a connection.

Anyway, fast forward to present. The house looks in to be in need of repair. Several years ago there was a plaque out front saying it was a home for unwed mothers.

Time changes.

Preachers on Saturday

Today was a busy day. At 2:30 we went to a play at the Baptist Church my mother-in-law belongs to. It was taking the idea of the series “Left Behind” and added their own sugar and spices to the idea.

In the play not only were the Jewish people who were true to their faith left behind (however, the Jews for Jesus were not), but so were some Christians that were not born again.

The acting was mostly good and I thought the prop people did a good job. I got sleepy anyway. After the curtains went up the preacher gave us a talking to just how important this is.

After that we rushed 10 or so miles away to Anna’s sister-in-law and the sister-in-law’s daughter’s birthday.

The niece is 50 years old. Somebody paid a company to come out and stick 50 little white with black spots cows in their yard. They will come back in a couple days and retrieve all but one cow.

They had visiting with them a lady from Wales and a lady from Oklahoma. The husband of the niece is a missionary Baptist preacher and had a mission in Wales for about a dozen years. The two visiting women were from that era of their lives. The preacher will be receiving his honorary Doctor’s title next week from a Christian college in Pensacola. I am thinking about sending off for a title too…. I think he said his doctor’s honorary diploma will be DD – Doctor of Divinity. I asked him wasn’t that white candy that was so good.

I think I’ll send off for a Doctor’s Diploma. If it is a DD, I could say I am a veterinarian as in DD as in Doctor Doolittle. Or I might pick DF, which would be Doctor Feelgood.

Glover Park Concert Series Starts

Yesterday the Friday night concerts (each last Friday of the month) started for the season in downtown Marietta on the Square. We went… it wouldn’t be completed without us, but no one else knows that but us.

Last night’s concert was a blues/beachboy type of music. It seems they would cancel each other out, but they were pretty good and provided some good dance music.

There were wall-to-wall people all over Glover Park, where the concert was, and also on an adjacent street blocked off. In front of the bandstand an area is blocked off for reserved tables and that is where all the elite site, and behind the bandstand on the blocked off seat were also a sea of tables but I am not sure those are reserved or you just bring your own table and set up your own. It seems to the be thing to decorate your table and the neighboring trees up with whatever theme you choose and then Mrs. Morris, the lady in charge of the concerts gives an award for the most creative table. It is an America’s “Look-at-me” competition at its best.

In the elite roped off dining area was a girl I was good friends with in high school. We sort of had a brother sister relationship. She was wealthy – so, when we matured we naturally went our separate ways. Back then she also taught a little girl baton twirling – the little girl was Anna..

Although there were many people there, a few stand out as people we have seen year after year. There is one man who is apparently single – he comes along. He has an electric wheel-chair…. He arrives late and insists on a certain place by a little wall with a good view. Each time he has to just about by mechanical force clear the area for him and his machine or he has to verbally asked for it. For a couple of years I have been thinking about politely telling him if he would get there a couple of hours earlier then he could get his choice spot by first-come-first-serve. Last night he lost out, the people there would not relinquish their place.

Near us in a picnic mold was a large group of middle aged people. I don’t think any of them had a wedding ring on. Marietta Divorce Club? They seemed to have a good time… several of them made a show dancing, showing they still had what it takes – and were pretty good at it.

Next to us were a humble nice polite husband and wife with Georgian accents. It didn’t take us long to discovered they were natives. And he used to lived in the same neighborhood as a good friend and his family… although he was about 8 years younger than my friend and me…. He knew the whole family.

It is a small world among natives – it doesn’t take long to be tripping over one’s own feet with the 3 or 4 degree law.

Each year an artist paints a picture that is used by the city’s parks and recreation for the official concert poster – the picture with the schedule of the concerts someplace on it. This year was the first year the artwork was not of Glover Park, where the concert is held. The artist usually has prints made up and has a table that she is signing prints and selling them. This year was no exception. This year the artist is the Mayor’s daughter.

Gee, I wonder how she was picked even though she strayed from the traditional theme?

"I'm Here At Wal-Mart" - status seeker

This morning we were having breakfast out. There were two men sitting at a table near us. One of the men was on his cell phone.

I heard him say something about "criminal trespassing." What about criminal trespassing? Was he the one criminal trespassing? Or maybe he was going to tell on somebody for criminal trespassing.

Then I heard him say, "He is my probation officer." Then I felt I knew who criminally trespassed.

It didn't happened, but if he had bumped into me and said, "excuse me." I would say, "No, excuse me!"

And then we went to pick up a few things at Wal-Mart. Where there, I walked by two people in two different areas on their cell phones and each said something like, "I'm here at Wal-Mart." I should have pushed my face near the cell phone and said, "Me too!"

Big House Art continued

The painting of the ship above is what I mentioned in the posting I did about the art in The Federal Penitentiary. I mentioned we bought two other paintings that I had no idea where they were. Anna read that post and told me the ship in rough waters is hanging in the guest room... and sure enough, it was. The other painting she said was not bought at the pen but someplace else.

As I mentioned the painting above was by a prisoner. A ship represents freedom and of course the rough waters could represent a tough unpredicted time when freed... I think, or it could just mean what it is, a boat in rough waters.

Speaking of that previous posting that the prison art is mentioned I noticed today that my son Adam, who has the painting, made a comment - something like what I might have done.

Happy Arbor Day!

When we cut down all trees what is going to supply us with oxygen?

Waterman Street School - again

A friend of mine who went to the same grammar school (Waterman Street School) as I did emailed me these pictures.

The classroom picture I have seen before. The one that I saw before was in a pile of Hunter pictures I was copying, but did not copy it because it did not identify anyone in the picture, but it is one of those “I wish I had” things. The pictures probably has some of my father's siblings in it. But then, I was skimpy with my film. I am glad I had a second chance to get it.




This is in front looking at the new lunchroom. Behind the photographer is a playground with monkey walks, sea-saws, slide etc. For some reason this playground did not interest us. We gravitated to the opposite side where it was nothing but a big field. Go figure.



Then the photographer walked around the building to the back of the lunch room. Out of site, on the right is a colonel style mansion. It is the only survivor. Waterman Street School was bulldozed away for the Salvation Army to build a building and between the school building and the big mansion the Marietta Parkway was cut through. Progress.

Visiting The Doctors' Office

This morning I had a scheduled appointment with my cardiologist at 7:45. Tuesday the doctors’ office automatic calling system called to remind me of my appointment, which they said was at 7:30.

Later that evening I was complaining to Anna that I made my appointment at 7:45 and they called to remind me of my appointment at 7:30…??. Anna said, “They don’t know you very well, do they?” Meaning that I always arrive at least 30 minutes ahead of when I am supposed to be there.

I arrived about 7:15. I ran into unforeseen traffic problems.

As I mentioned before the cardiologist group takes the whole 3rd floor of the building. Also, I mentioned that they have a young lady stationed by the elevator to politely with a big smile ask you where you are going, then, she can direct you. She doesn’t get there until 7:30.

In the meantime, until she got there, the lady at the front counter to take people as they sign the sheet had double duty. Not only did she have to make sure their insurance papers were up to date, when she heard the elevator “ding” she had to run around the counter, going through two doors, and run to the elevator and be there smiling when the door opened to greet the people and direct them to their destination.

Who ever is in charge must have insisted that the people getting off the elevator must be greeted and directed.

The young lady in her early 20’s that normally does the greeting job was running late. She came in at 7:35, said a few words of explanation to the lady running herself raggedy trying to do two jobs, then disappeared behind a door to spruce up so the lady still had to do two jobs.

In a few minutes she emerged with a red blazer on that is her official uniform, and a plastic notebook under her arm. I think in the notebooks she can pull out a map of the 3rd floor and show people how to get to where they are going. She probably has an index with all the doctors, nurses, and others to look up quickly probably sorted by first name and last name, so she can quickly look someone up to route the inquirer where to go, along with their own map that she pointed out things on it. Before going out in front the elevator she quickly looked over the magazines on the several tables selected one and put into her portfolio looking notebook. It gets boring out there in front of the elevator.

The nurse called me in. She is a black lady, very pleasant and as she asked me various questions as she hooked me up to an E.K.G. (I think) by wires and strong tape strips (it felt like). After she got the readings she wanted and it printed out in graft form she begin pulling off the E.K.G. strips… slowly… pulling my chest hairs out by their roots slowly. Then, I remembered, a few months ago I complained to her boss for her not returning my telephone calls….. hairs being pulled out slowly….she kept her pleasant smile during the whole ordeal.

After the doctor went over everything he told me it was about time for another nuclear stress test. Without any handing me any paperwork, on his electronic notebook he signaled the checkout people to schedule me a stress test. Modern marvels!

I went up front to check out and the lady told me the stress test girl would like to go over a few things with me and schedule me the test, and just have a seat and she will be with me soon.

I found a seat that I could keep an eye on the counter as well as the elevator greeter girl. I remembered in the past months I have seen the elevator door greeter girl imitate Judy Garland dancing and another time an airplane looking trying to land.

Today she was a toy soldier marching, taking high stiff steps, with a make believe rifle and when she got to the end, she would stop, to an “ about face” and stiffly walk the opposite direction. When the elevator “dinged” she would suddenly stop and be ready with a smile when the door opened. You got to give her credit, she is making her job interesting.

If I had anything to say about it, I think I would get a plush desk out front for her to sit behind. A dancing receptionist?

After sitting for about 20 minutes I was beginning to wonder if I fell through a crack, or forgotten about. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Then, a little scrawny man came out and was checking out and the lady at the counter told him he needed to see blablabla about a test, she would call her to come down and get him… which she did, and in minutes a lady materialized and she and the little scrawny man walked away talking. About ten minutes they came back and he checked out.

I was getting irritated. I have been overlooked I thought. I walked up to the counter and asked if I have been forgotten – I have been setting there about 45 minutes. She made a call and soon a little red headed lady emerged and took me back in another direction than the little scrawny guy and another woman went. Maybe I jumped the gun.

The nice little red head went over what I could and could not take the morning of the stress test…. And I left. When I left the elevator door greeter was not there to say “bye” – surely that is in her job description, not only to greet when they arrive but to say “bye” when they leave. She was probably on break.

Why?

Bill Yopp and his former master and childhood playmate Tom Yopp in their golden years

Today is Confederate Memorial Day. Some people will be paying tribute to the Confederate soldiers who fought to preserve the South’s way of life.

The Confederacy was doomed from the start. There were not enough resources in humans or material compared to the North.

Emerged from the conflict were many interesting people from both sides. One of them was Bill “Ten Cent Bill” Yopp. Bill was black.

His master, T.M. Yopp, went into the Confederate army as an Officer. Bill went along as his “manservant”, which was not all that unusual. Captain T.M. Yopp was wounded and returned to the plantation. Probably Bill accompanied him back home but soon returned to the same Confederate unit, Company H, “The Blackshear Guards”, 14th Georgia Infantry to do what he could for “The Cause”. He became their drummer.

Bill got his nickname “Ten Cent Bill” because he shined the soldiers shoes for 10¢ a pair. He became the richest man of the unit.

After the war he was a free man. He tried working at various jobs all over for several years. Finally, he returned to the plantation to work and found his former master packing to go the Confederate soldiers’ Home in Atlanta. Again, Bill went as his manservant.

After his master died he got a job as a door man at the State Capital. There, he held the doors opened for the leaders of Georgia. There, talking daily to the elite he started a campaign for more money for the Confederate Soldiers. He collected quiet a few coins himself – and I don’t know if he was asking for money for the soldiers or they just tipped him and he used the money for the soldiers. Either way, he took all his coins and small bills and distributed it among the men at the Confederate Soldier’s Home, some didn’t have more than a dime until he showed up every Christmas handing out money to each one of them.

His collecting money for the soldiers became so well known that Governor Hugh Dorsey.

Bill was so well liked when he became too old to work, he was admitted to the Confederate Soldiers’ Home.

Bill died June 3, 1936.

And his is buried in the Confederate Cemetery in Marietta.

Bill did all he could to give aid and comfort to those who fought to keep him in bondage.

I wonder why?

Rogers Ferry

This is Rogers Ferry. It is carrying Anna’s ancestor Buck Jones and his mules and wagon across the Chattahoochee River. Have you ever wondered how Powers Ferry and Johnson Ferry Roads go their names? Clue: They both crossed the Chattahoochee River.

As you know, I am in the process of re-running the old pictures I have ran before. I ran this picture before and not too long ago a person contacted me asking me permission to use the picture in an Atlanta magazine article. I haven’t seen the article yet. Maybe it is too early.

Happy Administrative Assistant's Day!*

*formerly Secretaries’ Day.

The Pen and the Brush

While we are on the subject of art here is an original painting he bought at the Big House. By Big House I mean the grounds is covered by a 20 feet high wall with barbed wire at the top. The Federal Pen.

It was purchased in our BK era. We heard that the Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta, just up the street from Grant Park had a art festival every fall. The art canvases for sale were done by inmates. The art show and sale was not within the walls but just down the street, still on the Pen’s property I think.

How does the above painting strike you? To me it looks like someone trying to get away rather quickly and he is running down a dark alley or corridor.

The art was for sale at a darn right reasonable price and I think the proceeds went to help out with the inmates somehow or another.

We went two years in a row and ended up with at least three paintings. One above, which my son now has, a ship in earlier times when they used sails in rough seas, and the other one I am not sure what it is… it looks like some kind of dream a Persian cat might have had. I looked for those also, I have no idea what happened to them.

The inmates created some fantastic art paintings. Some were highly unusual. My theory is that the inmates are not your common everyday yuppie you see in the latest style and joking about their golf games. Individually the average person marches to his own drummer. He might even have a disturbed mind…. All the better to put out startling art, dearie.

Lets face it, any art created in the Big House was probably done by a rule breaker. I don’t know but I would guess that there are rules in art to followed, the same as rules in writing, grammar, and so on. These guys will probably dare to break the rules and produce some strange unnerving art.

I think I just rather stay on this side of the wall and color by numbers.

That reminds me, when I first got out of the Navy my first job was with The Atlanta News Agency. I was a route salesman. I traveled over a certain area in southeast Atlanta and visited various convenience stores and drug stores and see what magazines and books were selling and what wasn’t selling. I would pick up the ones not selling and give them credit, and if the next store down the street was out sold out of what I just picked up I would leave it with them…. There were more to it than that…. But that is essentially what I did.

At times the Atlanta News Agency would give each of a huge number of publications that were not selling good. They would say get rid of them. And don’t pick them up for credit until after inventory was taken.

Once I was given something like 1500 coloring books to get rid of. They were very child like coloring books that most children would have felt superior to. So, how was I going to get rid of 1500 useless coloring books.

The Atlanta Federal Penitentiary was on my route. I wrote up one ticket, carried to the dock, had the guy that was in charge of the loading dock to sign for it and he turned around and had some prisoners unload it, and I was on my way, laughing all the way out the gate.

And guess what? The coloring books were never returned for credit.

High Again

I'm just trying to get more mileage out of our trip to the High Museum. These are on the inside looking out. Remember, click on each picture and see it as a huge bigger than life overpowering picture, more than it actually is.

Confederate Memorial Day in the 1940s

Confederate Memorial Day will be this Thursday, April the 26th.

The pictures are of the Confederate Cemetery in Marietta. I am told it is the largest Confederate Cemetery in the South, and I’m willing to bet, anywhere outside the south also. It has 3000 residences. One of the residences is black. That will be for a future blog.

Back when I was in grammar school at Waterman Street School in the late 1940s each year on Confederate Memorial Day our teachers would herd us and all our other fellow students of the school out of the building and into the street where we would walk single file, or maybe two abreast, on the sidewalk the three or four blocks to the Square in downtown Marietta. There, we became part of a sea of other white grammar school students from all over Marietta.

White grammar school students? Yes, this was a "white only" activity. That was during the days of segregation. The Supreme Court ruled that Segregation was fine providing it was “separate but equal”. So, the black school children had a march to the National Cemetery, which had Yankees buried in it on Memorial Day, or also known here in Marietta then as “Yankee Memorial Day”.

We were each given a small Rebel flag with a small little staff. After we marched to the Confederate Cemetery we were to find a grave not yet stuck and stick the flag in it, near the headstone. Then we would have to stand in the hot sun and listen to politicians, Daughters of the Confederacy, and whoever else give speech after speech. Well, even though we didn’t give things like that much thought at that age, we were a captivated crowd, just what speakers need.

Or, the more I think about it, we probably listened to the speakers first then scattered to stick the flags and scattered on out of there.

In the first grade my mother was worried that I would get lost in the crowd and somebody snatch me up. She gave my sister, who was probably in the 5th grade, strict orders to keep an eye on me and hold my hand after the meeting broke up and we were to go home.

My sister recalls that after it broke up she looked for me and couldn’t find me. She frantically looked and looked and I was no place. She had to walk home alone and dreaded having to tell my mother that she had missed me, now I was lost.

When she got home I was playing in the yard.

I knew the downtown streets more than they realized.


Yes, I know these pictures are pictures I taken in a Fall season and I am talking about a Spring event, but its the best I can come up with.

Water and Good Parking Spaces

This morning was beautiful spring morning. There were no pollen scattered all over creation showing a strange orange-green glow. Maybe it was an radioactive pollen. Mother Nature huff and puffed and scattered the pollen all over for life to continue its sequence, but where the some of the pollen were program to land, planned millions years ago, there are parking lots and buildings. What now? Do the master planers go back and reprogram the pollen flow?

Yesterday was nice too. I went for a bike ride.

This morning I went for a walk and a run. My cardiologist told me I need to exercise strenuous enough to get my pulse between about 100 and 128 and keep it in that range for 30 minutes. So, that is what I do. I walk for about 30 minutes and run for 30 minutes.

If you could see me run, when I say “run” you might have to look the other way or scratch your nose or excuse yourself and leave quickly to cover up your smirk. Some people walk faster than I run.

I sort of sludge alone. My sludgging does the trick. I kept my heart rate up between 110 and 120 and worked up a good sweat.

Before I took off into my run about 2 blocks away a fire truck was by a fireplug and two firemen had a fireplug unplugged and water was come out at great force, disrupting a man’s yard work, sending loose debris into the gully by the street, then flowing on away.

A neighbor friend Omar was watching them. He told me there was a water main broken one block up the other way. He noticed it at 5am and called the water department. It was then 8:00 and no one from the water department has shown up yet. I don’t know how the fire department got involved in this.

One of the firemen said he was going home and water his yard and the water department better not say anything.

We are in a draught condition and there is a partial band on watering lawns. If your house had a odd number you can water certain days, and even number, the other days. The water department is authorized to issue citations for people who abuse the rules.

A few more blocks up and out of a subdivision and onto the main road that has a sidewalk I started running. On the sidewalk I plowed right through a sprinkler system and got wet – not too wet. A new two-building office park has a little bit of a lawn and they were watering it and the water was overlapping the edge of the newly planted grass and onto the pavement. They should be fine for watering the pavement!

Also it is an even day and they have an odd number, but I think with newly planted grass the rules are that rules don’t apply to you, and even if they did, being a business, of course the rules don’t apply to you.

I ran on up the street a half mile of or so and cut through a Baptist church parking lot. I noticed the handicapped spaces were the closet to the entrance doors. The next best parking places were the visitors. About 5 or 6 places were marked off for The Visitors. “Well, how nice” I thought, they give the visitors a red carpet treatment.

Wait! That is not it at all. That way, they can see what can of car they drive. If they come in a old heap with stickers all over it and a donut tire you can bet they won’t have anybody from church paying them a visit…… however, if they have a new shiny hog, the preacher himself might pay them a visit.

It was a good morning to exercise.

Happy Earth Day!!

Howard Finster (1916-2001)

These are pieces of art that I photographed in the Howard Finster section of the High Museum. If you click on any picture hopefully you will be able to read the scripture, and I do mean scripture.







You might notice that some of his spelling and some of his English usage is not textbook correct – but do you want “Good Grammar or Good Religion Inspiration?” (apologies to the old Winston Cigarette ad agency).

R.E.M. used one of his works of art for a CD jacket. R.E.M. is a Georgia based band and Howard Finster was a Georgia based preacher and artist. There could be a connection.







In order to take pictures of the Permanent Collection items you have to read and sigh the rules and regulations pertaining to taking pictures. And then wear the permit (self-adhesive) on your upper torso.




Even though I had permission the guard for that area got sort of nervous over what I was up to. She kept checking on my progress by coming around the corner quickly. What did she think I was going to do? Paint a mustache on somebody?


Howard Finster was a preacher and apparently an eccentric one. A picture of his property had endless objects with his art on them and his words about God and Jesus. I think you could say these were truly Divinely Inspirations.

High Times

We went to High Art Museum in Atlanta yesterday. We saw the Louvre Exhibit, Phase 2 and a jazz concert.

It was interesting to see what new fashions Spring sprung on us. The High Museum is where you will see the latest in fashions. It appears that pedal pushers have made comeback. I heard them called pedal pushers and heard them called calypso pants – it is pants that end near the knees. They looked okay until I saw a middle aged lady wearing them – she looked as if she was trying to keep up with her daughter – well, why not?

This exhibit, phase 2, as I call it, was mostly tapestries, ceramic art, hand made brass objects, hand made tea sets and mostly practical – or not so practical things the elite used on their trips…. You don’t expect them to have their tea in just an ordinary tea cup do you?

The tour ear phones also told of the mood of France was at the time – King Louie the XVI and his lovely bride Marie Antoinette were collecting a huge amounts of luxuries for their own use – they were spending more than they were earning, if you can imagine a King earning his keep.

And then when the masses were starving and Louie were wallowing in more riches and than the country could afford she said of the masses, “So? Let them eat cake!” Cake meaning bread… day old bread. She should have added “with rich icing and ribs and prime ribs!”

Part of the exhibit was still there. The paintings were still there that the gift shop had calendars, books, and note cards…. I can see how the retail selling of these items would be weak, if one hadn’t just looked at the real stuff displayed…. So, maybe it was more of an economic move – or none move.

I took plenty of pictures of the Howard Finster exhibit. This time I got a camera permit to take non-flash pictures of the museum’s permanent items, but even then, I could tell the guard was getting nervous watching me. I’ll probably show some of those pictures after I go through them.

Interesting, one time we sat down in a big open corridor just to rest a minute and I noticed several girls about age 10 or 12 were amazed at a glass exhibit across from we were sitting. They were part of a school tour with other students and teachers near by. Then, several other girls came and looked at the glass exhibit and walked away with smirks on their faces.

Then two boys came and looked.



I couldn’t hold my curiosity back any longer, I got and looked at the details of the glass art. The blue glass object is a nude man. In front of him a glass ball has been tastefully placed… but if you bend your head and look around the glass ball you see the blue man is well endowed.

At 5 o’clock were the Friday jazz concert. The sitting area for listeners of the concert were tables with about 4 chairs and around the edge of the room were cushioned things almost like futons to sit on. We had to get in a long line to wait for them to let down the rope for people to enter the area to get a seat. When they did, we all rushed frantically for a good seat – it reminded me of a Land Rush in the 19th century.

This picture is the seating taken from the top level.


We got to one of the futon things around the edge.

The jazz was good and smooth with a few drum and/or horn tricks from time to time. More than the music it was interesting to watch the people. That is the social place to be, the 5 o’clock Friday Jazz thing was the “in” thing. There were the dignified, the sheik, the sophisticated, all making their fashion statements and to be seen.

The "Land Rush" kind of seating presented a problem. How can you be fashionably late if you have to get on Mark, Set, Go! to set a seat? You don't. You come in fashionably late and stand around in a sophisticated, like you don't mind standing, blocking MY VIEW.

I started watching people close to me. At a table there was a mother and her son who looked to be about ten years old. She seemed to carry on a good rapport with her son and she looked him straight in his face when she communicated and her face was very rubberize, - very expressive. I concluded that she was teaching him by showing how to be very sociable in facial and body language – not unlike a mother bear teaching her cub how to catch a salmon swimming upstream (I have been watching too many nature specials on TV).

A half of a Diet Coke poured into a plastic container cost me $2.00 at the makeshift bar. How sophisticated is that for me to throw away a wad of money like that? I hope I impressed someone.

Seeing Old Friends Again

My friend Paul who replaced the support poles holding our den up last week – his mother died Thursday. She was 90 years old.

Last night we went to the funeral home and paid our respects. Funeral home visitations and funerals are for the living. This was no exception.

It was like a high school reunion. Many old friends I haven’t seen in over 45 or years and others I haven’t seen in a good while. I am always amazed at the guessing game we play at times like this, trying to recognize who that person is hiding behind all those wrinkles and gray hair with mustaches and beards.

The voice is always a quick way to recognize people. The voice tone does not change. The accent might, but the same note tone is still there. Another sure thing is their demeanor. If they were cocky then they are cocky now. If they had a sincere way about them then they will now. And the pretentious phony has not changed his phoniness – just more hanging skin.

One old lady talked to me as if we are the best of friends and acted if we last talked to each other earlier this week. She said my nickname “Rock” so natural… either she is in a time warp or I am. I faked it. I have no idea who she was.

One old friend surprised me. I ran into him at another funeral about ten years ago and he had changed dramatically since the last time I saw him in the early ‘60s. In the early ‘60s he was short. When I saw him at the funeral in the mid ‘90s he was tall and looked like a person very concerned about his looks and worked out daily. Now, his age is catching up to him and he looks like he might be losing bone density, he doesn’t look as tall as then, and believe it or not, it is like he is regressing back to the way he looked in the early 60s.

Seeing old friends of 4 or 5 decades ago all in the same room is always is a little traumatizing to me. Do they expect me to do something crazy like I would then? Now, sometimes a witty comment is all I can come up with. I don’t even know what to talk to them about, but I still enjoying seeing them, probably our of curiosity.

Nature's Sytem: The Eater and The Eatee

This morning on the treadmill I watched the mountain segment of “Planet Earth”, which I taped earlier. It was narrated by Sigourney Weaver.

Did you know that the mountains are losing height? Yep! All the mountains are losing height which includes the Rocky Mountains, the Appalachians, and all of them. They are slowly losing their height my natural elements such as wind, erosion, landslides, and what ever… maybe a little human blasting to make way for a new shopping center also.

If a person wants to climb a certain mountain but feels it is too physically demanding to climb it, if he is patient enough, he will wait around, maybe 5 millions years the mountain top will come to him.

The segment also featured the wildlife of the mountains. With modern wizardly photography they watched a lioness and her cub that lived on the side of a very steep rocky mountain. It was the rare Snow Lion they said. The cub was one year old and still too young to hunt for himself. The mother had to go out everyday to hunt for food and kill it and drag it back.

The cameras followed her following a mother antelope looking thing that was adapted to the dangerous sharp rocky slopes. The mother antelope was leading two baby antelopes that were in their learning stage, cut but clumsy. A perfect meal.

The lioness followed them quietly waiting for the right opportunity to pounce. She would sneak over them and look down on them and sneak under their trail waiting for the right moment. This wasn’t the same as a clash between two mothers at the frozen foods section over the last frozen spinach package. It was much deeper and personal than that. The wise antelope-like mother sensed the lioness and galloped away with her and her babes and the lioness fell or something and they got away.

Hoorah! I was rooting for the antelope. I hate senseless killing.

But – would it have been a senseless killing?

The next scene the mama lion returned to the den on the side of mountain empty pawed. She had to explain to the cub that he would have to go without food that day.

It is just as sad to see an innocent flesh eater to starve to death. He didn’t ask to be carnivorous. He has to eat meat, that is the way nature made him. So, the meat will have to come from some live creature, that is the cruel way nature (and business) is set up.

Also, it showed a mother bear coming out of her den after hibernating for 6 months with her 2 cubs. The cubs were thrilled to be able to play in the snow and tumble and grab each other. The mother was busy looking for something to eat, and also looking out for animals of prey who could grab one of her cubs and eat it.

Sigourney Weaver said that the cubs biggest predators are (get this): Male Bears!

A male bear could possibly eat his own child, grandchild, niece, or nephew for breakfast. Life is full of ironies.

4 Generations

This picture has been on this blog before. I have decided to recycle my old pictures. This time, not referring back to the original blog I might tell the story of this picture from a different perspective…, and there may be one or two who have not seen these pictures before plus, last but not least, get some more mileage out of my collection.

The older gentleman on the left is my great grandfather William A. Hunter (1842-1928). His name used to be William A. Trammell until he suddenly left Franklin, North Carolina, and changed his surname to Hunter. He fought in the Civil War and was shot in the knee at Kennesaw Mountain.

The next man is my uncle, my father’s brother Herbert Hunter (1901-1976). Herbert jointly owned the first airplane strip in Marietta (on Austell Road). By trade he was barber and owned Hunter’s Barber Shop on Church street in Marietta. His hobby was flying and fishing at Lake Allatoona.

Herbert is holding his son Ray Hunter (1923-1991), my first cousin. Ray fought in World War II and after the war went to work for a utility company in New Jersey, which he retired and moved back to Marietta.

The man on the right is Franklin Paris Hunter (1879 – 1950). Frank was the son of William on the left, father of Herbert, and grandfather to Ray and me. He was a machinist for Glover Machine Works. He had 9 children with his wife Minnie Tyson We lived with him the last two years of his life. He taught me to ride a bike. He also saved my life one time when I a spark from the fireplace ignited my pajamas - he quickly rolled me and threw something over me to cover squelch the flames. He was my buddy.

Income Tax Day

This morning I walked to the Post Office that has my PO box to get my mail, which is 1.25 miles or six Cobb County blocks away.

I thought instead of exercising today, it is such a beautiful day a walk would be nice, but the main reason is that I did not want to fool with the parking situation with the procrastinators on the final day the income taxes are due this year.

Aren’t you glad you have the privilege to help finance the government operations for another year?

Within a week ago I heard that several airplane mishaps were blamed on overworked Air-Traffic Controllers. They said they were working long hours, sometimes taking off only 8 hours before starting back, they were near exhaustion. With a tight budget the bosses after to have the controllers burn the candle at both ends, and well, you get plane wrecks. That what happens when you cut expense across the board without looking at the details.
And, if they had more tax dollars to run things, then more people would be alive to pay more taxes, so it is a win win situation.

I told my elderly neighbor lady I was going to walk to get the mail and she told me to be careful and not let any Mexicans run over me. I asked her was it okay to let a Caucasian run over me?

The walk was nice and with a pleasant breeze was puffing easily by.

In the post office lobby where the mailboxes are located an ex-coworker, Joanie had a chair and table to greet customers and maybe eliminate standing in line, thus no long line. If they just needed their tax envelopes stamped with today’s date, she could help them with that… if they wanted forms, she could swivel around and reach for the well sorted out forms, swivel again with the forms and hand them to them. If they wanted to know the latest post office gossip or the local north east Cobb gossip she could tell them that too, which that was the reason I stood in her short line, to hear the latest inside news.

By craft Joanie is a rural route carrier. She hurt her back a few years ago and is on the light duty list. She mostly answers the telephone, other than today. One time when Joanie was a carrier she reached into a mailbox because the flag was up and found herself holding a pipe bomb. I think she just about had a hissy-fit, but she did what she was suppose to do, get the hell a safe distance away and call the law. And of course the law called the media and it was on the news.

Joanie has a laid back attitude that she appears that nothing upsets her (except pipe bombs). As she sit at that table today in her slow laid back, slow southern drawl away, I think some of the young aggressive east Cobb yuppies will think “typical Postal employee!” They won’t know about her one time looking at pipe bomb she one time picked up or hurting her back lifting too much weight, and most of all, she probably could buy and sell them if she wanted. She inherited a huge section of land from her grandfather and sold it to a developer that developed a mall complex.

There wasn’t as much people are cars as I thought would be. I think many people thought Friday or Saturday would be the last day they could mail their taxes and not know about the April the 17th extension.

It was a nice walk anyway.

The Right To Bear Arms

Guns don't kill people. Nuts do.
Now, how to we prevent the nuts from shooting people? Duh!!!

The Downtrodden

Yesterday on CBS Sunday Morning News they had an article about the financial struggle of the middle class. What it boiled down to is that the cost of living and paying also paying for a nest egg, and your children’s college adds up to more than the average family brings in. So, the average middle income family has to make some choices which is more important to them.

And to dash a little salt in the wound they said that the wealthiest 10% had a 140% increase in their income last year and the middle class had 4%, which didn’t even keep up with inflation.

And they didn’t talk about the facts and figures of the bottom 10%, they probably didn’t have the stomach.

Because it is Income Tax due time I guess now is the time the media likes to point out how financially bleak things for most of us. The Sunday Atlanta Journal and Constitution’s Parade magazine pointed out different people in different professions and how much money they were bringing in. Most of the CEOs mentioned was bringing in (I won’t say earning) over 10 millions. Most sports. Movie and TV Stars mentioned between 2 and 10 million. Surprisingly some office mangers were making only 40k, and the incomes get lower.

It seemed the more your job is in the spotlight the more you make and the more essential your job is the less you make. For instance a police officer and a Postal carrier both made under 50k – however, remembering that CEOs made up in the millions, which job is more essential? If all the CEO’s wanted to show how much you depended on them, and all suddenly went on strike, do you think your life style would change? I doubt it, you probably would not know it, unless you are a person that keeps up with the news. On the other hand, if all the cops and postal carriers went on strike would you notice it? I speculate Yep, and very quickly.

And the lower you go on salary chain to the most essential jobs… people who cleanup and pick up garbage, would you miss them?

And the lowest on the food chain, food pickers. People who pick food for a living. If they all quit for better paying jobs and no food were picked to be processed do you think they would be missed?

Something an’t right.

Much To Say About Nothing

Yesterday evening it poured down raining. This morning the wind is blowing hard with bits of rain. Even thou it is not a nice day to play outside, so far, I feel thankful we have not just been covered with another blanket of snow, like some other parts of the country.

I think Winter is trying to make one last Hurrah to scatter
the seeds and pollen and stuff.

Out our den window yesterday were two rabbit. Both of them being rather still – each was probably wondering who is “going to make the next move?”

As mentioned in a recent blog Anna’s late cousin’s wife died. She had a son, daughter, and three grandkids.

This is how small of a world it is: The late husband’s mother (who is still alive) is from the mountains of north Georgia. My mother also grew up in the north Georgia, but a different part. My mother and this lady moved to Marietta about the same time to work and they met, became good friends, and double dated. That was in the late 1930s.

A week or so ago we decided to try out a new barbecue place in Woodstock. We like unfranchised-hole-in-the-wall barbecue joints. As I said earlier, our previous BBQ hole in the wall, Slopes closed down. We thought of a place we had eaten at a year or so before called Beetles Barbecue. They have several VW’s in the parking lot and one VW van inside… get it? Beetle? Yuk yuk. When we went the last time we didn’t like it for some forgotten reason, but decided to give them another chance. This time it wasn’t bad.

At the next table were about 6 or 8 elderly women. They were having a good time talking. I think they just left of some kind of get-together. The more they talked, they more I realized some didn’t know each other.

We ordered bbq salads and two of the women said they would have what we were having.

The women were talking about Paula Dean. One of them said that at a bookstore in Roswell that afternoon Paula Dean’s two boys were to be there signing her latest cookbook. A couple of the women said they were going.

Is that okay? To send your sons, instead of yourself to a book signing event at a bookstore? It might be, since they share the TV lights with her.

Speaking of food and restaurants, our local paper has a restaurant review on Thursday. I think they time that just right just right for us. Anna is normally off on Fridays, so the review is fresh on our minds.

The latest review was of a place in Mableton, which is in south Cobb County. We went. It has the shape of an old Waffle House that has seen its better days. We thought we read it opens daily at 11:00, so we wanted to beat the crowds, so we were there at 11:00. A sign on the door said they open at 11:30. We pulled over to the side parking lot and waited. Interesting, the help arrived and parked in the best premium places. I thought employers of retail encourage their employees to park in the places that are not close to the entrance… no sir! Not here!

The place had, as the review said, very diverse diners; from the workmen that had paint and red mud on their overalls, to well dressed people. I thought the food was good. The food kept its heat, which is always good. The only bad part, I think, they give you too much.

The reviewer called it home cooking, which I suppose it is and I think it can also be called Soul Food. Soul food items were regulars on the menu.

The name of the restaurant has a woman’s name. But I think a young hyper black man was the proprietor. You get in line and to the front. For lunch you get two veggies and a meat and cornbread. He talks you into an ordering frenzy, much like athletes talk up among themselves to increase the energy level. I noticed he was give each person a name and he put thought into each name.

Elderly women were called mostly “young lady”; big brutes were ordained “Big Fellow”; women from 20 to 65 were called “Sweety”; and I and a few more were christened “Young Man.”

The cashier poured your ice tea and rang up the cost. I think it would be the same for everybody’s lunch plate. She seemed to be a motherly black lady. When she parked up front in the best parking spot I saw the had some kind of realtor magnetic sign on her car door, saying something like, “Let me sale your home.” I imagine Mama might be pretty aggressive if she needed to be.

Once the line was worked down to nobody and then the young guy who ran the show made a quick visit table to table asking people how they liked their food. He made quick hip-like comments when asking. One table, behind me, when he walked up to it, apparently somebody had their head down near the plate pigging out. He said, “You got your head down eating, that’s what I like to see!”

Soon they are moving across the street to a bigger location in a shopping center and the name Bistro will be added to the name of the restaurant. I hope they are not out growing themselves.

Joe’s baby Rebecca I suppose is safely home now. I think he and his mating companion are living under his Mama’s roof, I don’t he has a job to support them.

I remember when our sons were born, my parents and in-laws were there a lot. I don’t think Joe’s mate’s parents have visited at all. Did they disown her?

The other day the man at the end of the street had a bunch of tall pine trees cut down. They also had a grinder that was pulled by a truck. Apparently, Joe’s mother requested for them to bring a load of pine chips up to their back yard. I guess she has some landscaping plans that included pine chips. They pulled the machine full of pine chips to the back yard. In doing so, they had to do a lot of big truck maneuvering and knocked down the “It’s A Girl” sign. It is still down. It did not occur to anyone to put it back up, or at least pick it up.

Later I stepped out to see how the progress was coming with the Pine trees and I saw Joe out in street in front of the work being done. She had her arms folded and Joe was looking rather helpless and unsure of himself. In his hand was a pair of work gloves. I think probably the owner of the tree cutting operation offered him some quick non-taxed money to help them. It is a very busy operation, one man up in the tree cutting segments, another man cutting the segment into smaller segments to be transported and sold for pulp wood, and the crew of men using the debris grinder and stump grinder. Joe is a big strong looking kid… the owner probably figured him for a good worker.

Which apparently, it sounded good to Joe’s mate, but Joe himself wasn’t too sure. But it looked like she was insisting.

Later, I was outside and looked down the street and men were working in their well organized way of not a wasted motion – very good precision work was being done in a very efficient way. I saw men moving about but didn’t see Joe.

Finally, I saw him. The reason I had trouble seeing him was the others were moving about. Joe was standing still talking on his cell phone.

I thought his mother took his cell phone away when he ran up over a $1000 bill. Maybe Joe pitched a fit and got it back.

Family Values

Some things are funny just telling the news without even using a punch line. You don’t have to; the punch line is built in.

Here is a good example: Dr. James Dobson, founder of Focus On The Family has endorsed Newt Gingrich for President. Newt Gingrich has had more than a couple of wives and at least two issues of adultery. Dr. Dobson doesn’t believe any of the leading Democratic hopefuls have enough family values, even though, the three frontrunners, Clinton, Obama, and Edwards have had no divorces.*

*This idea was stolen from today’s Sunday’s Funnys, “Doonebury” by G.B. Trudeau.

Old Marietta and Medical Plans

When talking about the medical services in Marietta many years ago, I only reported only what I was exposed to.

Now, with 20/20 hindsight I realized I should have told you about the health plan at Glover Machine Works.

Glover Machine Works built trains in the 19th century and ship parts in the 20th century. My grandfather worked for Glover Machinery for many years. He had eight sons and a daughter. And the sons were an active bunch, always getting injured.

Then, Glover Machinery, had a doctor on the payroll. When an employee or an employee’s family member needed medical attention, the doctor from Glover Machinery would make a house call.

I think many companies of any size had similar HMOs.

Death

Two years ago Anna’s cousin Doug died. Yesterday his wife Mary died. Mary was 59. It was not sudden, she died in a hospice. Every time I saw them I thought of them as a handsome young looking couple, even as they talked of their grandchildren.

Death is final.

Woodstock - The House That Was Is now a Business

Recently a guy by the name of Chris has made some comments on this blog. I clicked on his name link and saw that he is a Woodstock resident.

I hope he visits again and sees the above picture. He might recognize it.

The picture is my great grandfather and grandmother, William A. & Emaline Ray Hunter, on their front porch of the house they built about 1902. The house is still standing today. It is on Main Street Woodstock, next to a horse boarding place with a white fence. The house now owned by American Rental Company (I think that is name, if not, it is very similar).

William is the one who grew up with the surname of Trammell in Franklin, NC, and fought in the Civil War and got injured on Kennesaw Mountain, and changed his name to Hunter – long story.

Medical Care Progression in Marietta

My sister was born in what as called the Old Hospital in Marietta. I wonder what it was called before it was Old Hospital and was the only Hospital? Probably “The Hospital”. There I had my head sewed up on two occasions and my father wound up there one time when an inmate slammed a cell door on his hand and another time for appendicitis and my grandfather died there.

I was not born in a hospital. I was born at home. Dr. C.A. Means made a house call and delivered me. He was faced with a challenged. I was what they called, “born dead”. I was not breathing. He worked and worked trying to slap life in me. His hard work paid off. He got me breathing and probably complaining and screaming because I had a pain in my butt.

Dr. Means ran a one-man office above Atherton Drug Store. I don’t think you called for an appointment. You just went and sat in his waiting room. When he was ready for a patient, or the next patient, he would stick his head out, decide who was next and motion you on in. As I remember it, he never had a problem with deciding who was next. I would be the only one sitting there, so I was next.

His office was a big room that smelled of rubbing alcohol, iodine, and other disinfects. I remember some kind of stainless steel machine that looked like a toaster with steam tooting out of it.

Dr. Means was a short and every time he saw me he would light up. He saw me walking and talking and be proud of his work. He never charged me.

When I was in the Navy on a Halloween night there was an explosion of a gas leak that blew up Atherton’s Drugstore. It would have destroyed Doctor Means’ office also. By then he was elderly and a retirement age. I don’t know, but if had not already retired, I’m sure not having an office to come to was an incentive to go ahead a retire.

Then, in the 1940s and 1950s there were not many doctors and they all seem to come from a handful of families. If someone said they went to Doctor Haygood you might ask which one, Merl Haygood? Felton Haygood? And the Bensons and Hendersons were the same way.

I think the only time I spent the night in the Old Hospital, or maybe a few nights, when I had my tonsils out and was circumcised. No comment.


When I was under five I had a super cape on and was jumping from bed to bed in my sister’s and my room and missed a bed. I think I was pretending to be Mighty Mouse. I was more impressed with him than Superman, I could identify with him more. When I missed the bed my head hit the corner of a dresser and put a gash across my eyebrow.
I was taken to the Old Hospital and Daddy had to hold me down as Doctor Haygood put in several stitches. And we had to go through the same process when the doctor took out the stitches of me kicking and screaming but surprisingly they were removed quickly and painlessly, while I was still violently objecting.

Afterwards, back home, I felt kind of silly telling people I cut a gash in my head while jumping bed to bed playing Mighty Mouse so I told them I ran into a door. I thought that should be plausible. I may have been the first to "blame it on the door". I remember telling the woman who lived next door to us that I ran into the door and I could see her smirk. She knew I was fibbing. I got mad and frustrated.

My grandfather died in the Old Hospital. I remember, one Sunday after a movie at the Strand Theater, knowing he was in the hospital slipped up the back of the hospital to see him. I wasn’t old enough not to be accompanied by an adult. When I got to his room I heard a ruckus. I eased the door opened and there was my father and his brothers trying to hold their father down. He seemed to kicking and trying to raise out of bed, he was delirious. That was the last time I saw him alive. He died the next day.

Another time in the 5th grade a friend, in a temper flare-up, pushed me into the fire escape. It put a big gash down the center of my forehead. I already wrote a posting about that. Again, Daddy had to hold me down while Doctor Haygood put in stitches.

I wasn’t real happy at the moment, but after the bandage was removed and I had a healing scar down with stitches down the center of my forehead I was proud of that scar, it had a “Frankenstein’s Monster look to it.

I broke my arm in the early 1950s. I was at a professional wrestling match at Larry Bell Auditorium waiting to see the last bout which was to feature a gorilla or a bear (I forgot which) and a man. But meanwhile I was showing off for a cute little girl sitting in the bleachers with her parents. I was doing fantastic tricks leaping off the top row, hanging by my ankles and dropping, but when I went in for the flip trick I fell off lopsided and broke my arm.

They put me to sleep and set my arm. It was the first week the new Kennestone Hospital was opened for business and they were still trying to get organized by trial and error. Kennestone was only two three stories high Shortly after I spent the night there after they set my arm my youngest sister was born there

Now, it is a Wellstar Hospital and has grown and grown to take up the whole block and looking for ways to cross streets. It also has other medical and administration offices sprawled all over Cobb County. It is a huge complex and comes has a plush look, visually, which I’m sure your insurance premiums help pay. It is bigger than I think than any body can comprehend.

If it keeps this rate of growth up in not too many years you will probably have be on the medical staff, a patient, or a visitor to enter the city limits of Marietta., or Wellstar, it will be the facility.