An Angel Named Deborah

Over the next few blogs, I am going to turn my attention to a few women that have graced my life in some form or fashion. My first such post is going to be about someone who is one of the greatest people in our business. Sometimes, you hear that so-and-so is such a good person, and you wonder if it’s actually true or not. Let me go on record that in the case of one Deborah Evans Price, it’s simply the truth.

I first got acquainted with Deborah not too long after going to work with Billboard in 2011. Looking back on that time, it’s amazing to see just how clueless I was. Sometimes, I don’t know if I’ve gotten any better over time or not, but Deborah was one of the first people I met in the writing profession that made me feel welcome, and that – just maybe, things were going to work out.

Anybody in any vocation usually doesn’t go along a path that someone hasn’t traveled down prior, and in the past six years. Deborah has always shared her advice, grace, and just a little bit of wisdom over the years. I won’t go into details, as it fortunately doesn’t matter now….but in the spring of 2015, I got some news that could have been devastating for my career. Had I not used the strength and fortitude that I didn’t then know I had, it very well might have been the end. I remember talking with Deborah on this afternoon. As it turned out, what happened to me wasn’t new ground. She had an experience to share along the same lines, and encouraged me, telling me that it would be ok….and in time, better than ok.

Two years later, her words have proven to be right. The business of writing, particularly on a freelance level, is a tough one. The words “No” or “Pass” makes me feel less of a human being, though they are part of the territory. No matter how many by-lines you might be blessed with in an average month, there are always other writers who want the same. I’m better about handling that now, depending on the day and situation. When I find myself getting down about such a fact, I am reminded of one of the best pieces of advice I have ever gotten – from Deborah Evans Price. “There’s enough for us all.” Five words. It has taken several years for me to realize she knows what she’s talking about. Some days, that lesson is still harder to comprehend, but I know she’s right.

A few weeks ago, I got a chance to tell her just what she means to me. She’s always made me feel accepted, and I appreciate that more than anyone ever knows. Thank you, Deb Price, for always being greater than your reputation!

Chili Dogs......

Today, I am going to write about something that was very important in the scheme of influencing my career.

I am going to write about Chili Dogs.

OK, you might be scratching your head a little bit on this one. But, let me explain. As I have written many times over the years, radio was my first love. I began writing as kind of an offshoot of that, and that’s how things developed. But, when I was fifteen, those influences began to intersect a bit.

When I was a teenager, I won a lot of prizes from WSM Radio – CD’s, concert tickets, even a trip to Chattanooga once. However, in 1989, I won a prize which would have a huge mark on me wanting to be a writer – the book Chili Dawgs Always Bark At Night by Lewis Grizzard. For those not familiar with the name – as he’s been deceased for over two decades, he was a prize-winning columnist for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He wrote about his native Georgia, sports, and Southern life with a flair and a humor that captivated me. While some of my writing style I owe to the sentimental leanings of Earl Hamner, Jr. and his work in books like The Homecoming or the TV series The Waltons, I do hope there’s a bit of the smart-alecky side of Grizzard that shows up from time to time.

His book titles were as interesting as his writings – Kathy Sue Loudermilk, I Love You, Elvis Is Dead and I Don’t Feel So Good Myself, and When My Love Returns From The Ladies Room, Will I Be To Old To Care? The Chili Dawgs reference is a tip of the hat to the Atlanta and Athens-based eatery The Varsity and their world-famous chili dogs and slaw dogs. And, having gone crazy on their food my first time there, it’s true. They do bark at night. Lewis had a way at looking at life, love, and the mistakes that one makes with a sense of humor (albeit at times a little twisted!) that you couldn’t help but love. To this day, when I am going through Atlanta or Athens, I have to stop at The Varsity and have a chili dog in his honor.

Grizzard was definitely from another time. I don’t know that his writings would have thrived the same way today, with political correctness so much in vogue, and he took no prisoners, whether it be Democrat, Republican, Braves, or Bulldogs. I never met him, so I don’t know how much of what he wrote was tongue-in-cheek. I did talk to him on the phone once. He was a guest on WSM, and I called to ask him if Kathy Sue Loudermilk (whether that was her real name or not, I don’t know, but every school had a Kathy Sue – the one girl who stopped traffic the most!) was as beautiful as he made out. He insisted she was. But, in either case, the impression that he made on a teenager from Tennessee with his whimsical musings was a major one. I can’t say that I totally wanted to follow in his footsteps in all things, but if you’ve ever detected a little bit of a humorous tone in some of my non-journalism work, I would like to think his influence is there.

Which reminds me, I haven’t been to Atlanta in some time. Maybe it’s time for a Varsity run. Anybody with me?

Farewell to the "Mayor of Buddy's"

If you were to ask me about the first time I met Eugene Estes, to be honest, I would probably draw a blank. As it turned out, I only knew him for about eleven years all told. But, his influence on my life was unlike few that I have ever met. Looking back, I must have met him in early 2006, not too long after the passing of my mother. It was a time of a lot of transitions in my life, and there was something about Eugene, who had started coming to Church where I did that reminded me of the past. He was well into his 70s at this point, but in spite of that age difference, something clicked, and we became fast friends.

He ate lunch at Buddy’s, a little restaurant not too far from the house. Most afternoons, unless I was working, the day would usually find me there. It really wasn’t the food, but the ambience. I had made a new friend. As the son of a natural-born agitator, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, and Eugene Estes was likewise. Smart-aleck at times? Sure. Gruff? Definitely. Full of it? Yes, but that was the fun of it. For an hour or so – unless I chose to go back to Buddy’s for the 2pm crowd, which could get kind of raucous – I didn’t have to think about anything. About how life had changed, and was changing around me. I could just enjoy the moment. He was exactly what I needed at the time that I needed it. And, I was grateful.

Over the years, he became pretty much like a grandfather to me. Hold it. I’ve said before that family is a relative term – and sometimes relationships are thicker than blood. He was my grandfather….or better yet, my “Pappy.” Now, if you ever heard a phone conversation between us, you might wonder if that was true or not. We would typically start in on one another with greetings that might get someone else slapped – if they knew the context. But, it was our way. I would call him things that I would never call anyone else…..and vice versa. And, just thinking of all that makes me smile. My time with him was always fun – and was the only thing that completely cleared my mind of the stresses of my work.

Whether it be on the phone, at Buddy’s – or Jeanine’s – where his office later was, I usually was good for at least one lunch a week until he entered NHC last year. He didn’t really want to go – as I found out t last summer when I spent two weeks there, I can’t blame him. But, I still made the effort to try to get to see him at least once a week. Now, I will confess that one of the highlights of being a patient there during my rehab from surgery was the fact that he was just down the hall. He and I would wheel each other down the hallways as if we were going to crash into each other – He was much better at that than me, except when he popped a wheelie, and almost fell out of the wheelchair. (I didn’t witness it first hand, but I heard about it!). We would talk trash about the other in front of the nurses, and I think they got a kick out of knowing just how full of it both of us actually were!

You probably know how this is going to end. This afternoon, Eugene Estes passed away. But, unlike many losses I have felt, I can’t say that I am sad beyond belief. He lived almost eighty-five years, and most of them were pretty good. I just consider myself blessed to have had a friend who came along at a time that I needed one – where I could just be myself. I don’t know how the past twelve years or so would have been without his friendship……and for that I am grateful beyond belief. Maybe, just maybe, Eugene Estes was an angel. If so, a weird-looking one, but I wouldn’t be surprised……Rest in peace, Haystack!