‘SOME MEN ARE JUST TOO INTERESTING TO DIE’

Now, I ain’t too big on vampires. Never have been. I AM a big history buff, though. So, when I saw the book ABRAHAM LINCOLN, VAMPIRE HUNTER out on bookshelves, I automatically reached for it… just to see what was ‘up’.

Written as a biography of Abraham Lincoln, , it’s based on ‘secret diaries’ kept by the 16th President of the United States and given to the author by a vampire named Henry Sturges, who in the story, turns out to be responsible for turning Ol’ Honest Abe into a vampire hunter in the first place. After scanning a few pages, I realized that this might actually be a pretty good read.

Yeah, yeah, I know that you’re prob’ly thinkin’ that one of this country’s most revered leaders supposedly havin’ been a vampire hunter sounds really, really hokey, but just hear me out. Author Seth Grahame-Smith outdid himself in transforming the greatest figure from 19th Century American history into the hero of an original vampire tale with humor, heart and bite. The history was accurate, the action fast, and the story amazing. As I’m sure you’ve done before when reading an exceptionally good book, I found myself reluctant to put this one down, continuing to read two or three more pages extra before finally finding a stopping point. It truly was a good read.

In reflection, one of my favorite parts of the book has to do with a line that Henry Sturges, one of the story’s lead characters, oftentimes makes to Lincoln… that "some men are just too interesting to die”. How true that statement really is.

'DEFEND AT ALL HAZARDS'

            Today, the whole world is abuzz with talk of the United States Supreme Court’s decision to uphold the majority of Obamacare, a law that the greater part of the American people do not want.

Now, a good many of us wanna lay ALL the blame for this at the feet of President Obama, but the truth is more fault rightly belongs with the 279-elected representatives that voted this piece of legislation into being, as well as, the other 251 that did nothing to stop it ‘dead-in-its-tracks’, as we expected ‘em to do.

The way I see it, all 530 of ‘em seem to be more concerned with playin’ politics and gettin’ reelected than they do with what’s in the best interest for ALL of the people that they were elected to represent. Seems they’ve forgotten the basic principles for which this great nation of ours was founded upon.

Ol’ Sam Adams, one of the organizers of the Boston Tea Party, wrote back in 1771 that:

“The liberties of our Country, the freedom of our civil constitution are worth defending at all hazards: And it is our duty to defend them against all attacks. We have receive'd them as a fair Inheritance from our worthy Ancestors: They purchas'd them for us with toil and danger and expense of treasure and blood; and transmitted them to us with care and diligence. It will bring an everlasting mark of infamy on the present generation, enlightened as it is, if we should suffer them to be wrested from us by violence without a struggle; or be cheated out of them by the artifices of false and designing men. Of the latter we are in most danger at present: Let us therefore be aware of it. Let us contemplate our forefathers and posterity; and resolve to maintain the rights bequeath'd to us from the former, for the sake of the latter.”

                       

You know, that rings just as true today as it did some 240-years ago. I’m neither Republican, nor Democrat, nor Libertarian... I am an AMERICAN! And I say enough with the ‘bull-hockey’ politics! It’s gotten to the point that most of us no longer see our Federal government as being of The People, by The People, and for The People, but more like a government against The People. Each and every day, we see our liberties and rights continuously under assault in some form or fashion by the very people we have elected and sent to represent us in both houses of Congress, and it has got to stop.

Come this November, I plan on exercisin’ my right to vote, in hopes of sendin’ as many of these ‘so-called‘ representatives as possible back home. Hopefully, that’s all it’ll take. But, should it someday take more, make no mistake… we Americans WILL rise up and follow in the footsteps of our ancestors to ‘defend our liberties at all hazards’. We’ve done it before, and we can do it again.

“Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, it is the right of The People to alter or abolish it and to institute new government...” - Thomas Jefferson (3^rd President of the United States & an American Founding Father)

'STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED'

          It was late September a few years back, and I was camped alongside the Tellico River, back up in the mountains a ways. I had me a good fire goin’ and my feet propped up, relaxin’ and sippin’ on a cup of coffee, when I first heard the noise. Best I can describe it; it was some kind of low pitched howl that almost ‘sang’. It tweren’t no one-time thing, neither. I reckon I heard that noise at least a ½ dozen times or more over the next 45-minutes or so, and each time, its source had moved, workin’ its way around my camp.

          Now, this ol’ country boy’s been in the woods most all of his life, ‘specially at night, what with beaver huntin’, coon huntin’, runnin’ trotlines an’ limblines, and such, and I’ve heard all kinds of night sounds from bullfrogs a’croakin’ to coyotes yippin’ and even bobcats squallin’ like a woman gettin’ beat, but I ain’t never heard nothin’ like what was comin’ from up on that ridge that night. No matter how hard I tried, I could not recall having ever heard such a sound. Oh well, not one to spook very easily, I shrugged my shoulders and gave it not another thought… that is ‘til about a week or so later.

I was foolin’ around on the computer, lookin’ at GOOGLE Earth, and got to noticin’ all these little pins scattered all along the Appalachian mountains, especially in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and the national forests to the south of there, all around where my camp had been. Each pin signified a documented report of a Bigfoot sighting investigated by the BFRO*. Now, that brought a chuckle, along with a flood of memories.

It was 1977, and our teenage babysitter took my 7-year-old brother and 9-year-old me to see the newly released movie SASQUATCH, the Legend of Bigfoot. I thought it was AWESOME! Especially the part where the Bigfoots attacked the miners’ camp with large rocks. I had nightmares for weeks! Yet, I loved it! And, as if that weren’t enough, ten years later, Hollywood came out with an even better movie suggesting the existence of Bigfoot… Harry and the Hendersons. Now, really… who wouldn’t want Bigfoot to exist if it were like the loveable Harry?

Seriously, though, the idea of a giant, hairy ape-like creature actually existin’ in the forests of North America always has and still does sound pretty cool, and, hey… stranger things have happened. Heck, scientists are all the time rediscovering the existence of critters thought to have been extinct for centuries. So, I reckon Ol’ Tsul ‘Kalu** possibly could exist.

I’ve heard all kinds of arguments both for and against Bigfoot actually existing. My personal favorite is “if Bigfoot really does exist, why haven’t any remains ever been found?” And of course, you know I have an answer to that one. Now, I know it to be fact that bears and bobcats and wild hogs exist, for I’ve hunted all three for years… yet, I’ve never come across the carcass of a dead one in the woods. You see, Mother Nature is very good at ‘keepin’ her house clean’. Within three short weeks, all signs of the carcass of something the size of a deer will be completely gone, thanks to scavengers, bugs, and the elements. Not to mention, we’re talkin’ about a creature that’s supposed to be ‘ape-like’, so who knows, Bigfoots may actually dispose of their dead much like some apes and us humans both do.

Now, now… quit shakin’ your head at me. I’m not sayin’ that there IS a Bigfoot. It’s just that I’m enough of a romantic to think it’d be neat if there were some out there livin’ in the puckerbrush. At the same time, though, just ‘cause I ain’t never seen one doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. Hell, Native American tribes have acknowledged the existence of these creatures for centuries. At any rate, I always try to keep an open mind on such things… ‘specially when it comes to the beliefs of Hiawatha, Sittin’ Bull, and good ol’ Tanto.

Back to the pins, though… out of curiosity, I clicked on one of ‘em and read the attached report. Well, folks, once started, I just couldn’t stop. I read every one of the reports for that whole area, and I have to admit… some of ‘em actually had merit. I said ‘some of ‘em’. Some of the others, though, were about as hare-brained as could be, but if nothin’ else, they were good for a laugh.

Several of the more plausible reports mentioned noises and howls attributed to Bigfoot. Lookin’ around on the BFRO website, I came across a mention that the howl of a Bigfoot closely resembled that of the Gibbon monkey. Huh, I thought, wonder what a Gibbon monkey sounds like. So, I GOOGLE'd the sound of a Gibbon monkey, clicking on the link to listen, and nearly fell out of my seat when the sound came across the speakers. It was EXACTLY what I had heard that night, only what I’d heard was much deeper in tone. Goosebumps spread all over my body as the sound played over and over.

Naw…it couldn’t be! But then, like I said before… stranger things have happened.

*  - The Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization is the oldest and largest of several organizations dedicated to the research and investigation of Bigfoot sightings in the United States. The BFRO provides a free database to individuals and other organizations, which include reports from across North America that have been investigated by researchers to determine credibility.

** - Tsul 'Kalu (the slant-eyed or sloping giant) is the Cherokee Indian name for Bigfoot/Sasquatch. In Cherokee mythology, Tsul ‘Kalu is considered “The Great Lord of Game", the protector of the forest and it creatures.

‘MY D-DAY REMEMBRANCES’

As I write today, on this the 68^th Anniversary of the D-Day Invasion of Normandy and Occupied Europe, with the strains of 1940’s big band music playing in the background, my thoughts go not only to the awesome sacrifice made by so many that fateful day, but also to two men of that era in particular… my Papaw Lelton H. Pittman and the Rev. Ralph H. Clark, Sr.

I don’t actually remember ever meeting Bro. Clark until February of ’99. Although, I’m pretty sure that I’d seen him a time or two back when I was a kid, seein’ how he and my Papaw were not only good friends but also because Bro. Clark was, for a great many years, the pastor at Mamaw and Papaw’s church. On this date, though, Bro. Clark was there to speak at my Papaw’s funeral, and, boy, did he ever speak. What he said, I will never forget.

Turns out, Bro. Clark and my Papaw’s friendship had started when they attended college together at Howard University, in Birmingham (now known as Samford University), where they both studied for the ministry. They also had something else in common, though… both men were decorated veterans of World War II. Now, these two men were very humble and never bragged about what they had done or been through, not even to their families, but they did, as fellow veterans have been known to do, swap war stories from time to time.

Bro. Clark had survived the Hell and horrors of the Normandy beach landings during the D-Day Invasion of Normandy, while my Papaw had fought the fanatical Japanese in the malarial jungles of the South Pacific. One was awarded a Silver Star, while the other received a Bronze Star, for their ‘gallantry in action’ and ‘heroic achievement’. Interestingly, though, each man was awed by what the other had gone through while fighting in the war. Neither considered that he could have done what the other had had to. Each saw the other as a hero.

Now, that wasn’t all that Bro. Clark had to say about my Papaw that day, but that’s the part that comes to my mind each June the 6^th. And nearly a decade and a half later, I still find it remarkable how the one who had participated in the D-Day beach landings with their heavily-defended fortifications felt what he had done paled in comparison with what a fellow soldier had had to go through while fighting in tropical jungles clear over on the other side of the world. They truly were The Greatest Generation.

‘THERAPY OF THE RIVER AND THE ROD’

          It’s a hot summer day in North Georgia, and beads of sweat stream down off my ol’ bald head and down my face. A light breeze wafts over me as I wade waist-deep in the cool, clear water of the gently flowing river. With a couple of rhythmic false casts, I work out 30-feet or so of fly line and smoothly shoot the line up under some low-hanging tree limbs with a sidearm cast, dropping the little feather and cork poppin’ bug with it’s wiggly li’l rubber band legs mere inches from the heavily shaded riverbank. It lands with a small plop, and before the ripples can broaden out more than a couple of feet… KER-PLUNK! A fish SWIRLS, greedily snatching my offering from the surface. With a quick flick of my wrist, the rod tip comes up, firmly settin’ the hook. The ‘bull-gill’ immediately dives for the bottom as he goes to doin’ li’l dosey-dos in his struggles to get free. I feel the fish’ every movement as my 8-foot-long fly rod bows, throbbing and quivering under the strain. A minute later, I strip the fly line in and scoop the fish up, dripping and wiggling. It’s a big ‘Bull’ Bluegill, and his colors are iridescent and gorgeous. A moment later, the popping bug is pulled loose from the corner of his mouth and he’s slipped back into the cool river water, where he darts off into the deep… to live and fight another day. A couple of false casts to stretch my line back out, and I’m casting to another likely lookin’ spot along the bank. A usual day on the river can mean repeating this scenario anywhere from a hundred to two hundred times, bringing a heart-pounding adrenaline rush with each catch.

          This weekend, a couple of friends and I will push off in a couple of beat-up old canoes to float the deep spots and wade the shallows, all the time tryin’ our darndest to outwit some of the Good Lord’s finny creatures. If we’re lucky, we’ll bring a mess of the biggest ones home for a supper of deep-fried fish and homemade hush puppies. If not, well… I reckon we’ll just have to settle for cold beer and good barbeque from JORDAN’S, up at Cleveland. Either way, though, each of us’ll come back completely worn out, sore as can be, and burnt to a crisp from a day spent on the water, but better men, for sure… thanks to good camaraderie and the therapy of the river and the rod.

‘GOOD MANNERS’

Now, when it comes to manners, my Momma and Daddy raised this ol’ boy right. Yes, siree… I learned from an early age to ALWAYS say please and thank you, yes, ma’am and no, ma’am, yes, sir and no, sir. It was mister, miss, or missus, until given permission to address someone otherwise; a gentleman always gets the door for the fairer sex, and a blue million other particulars that helped to make an Alabama country boy into some semblance of a Southern gentleman.

I was taught that good manners just make life more pleasant for everybody involved. That was especially so for myself, seein’ how my parents were firm believers that the manners I displayed out in public were a direct reflection on them; a fact that they pointed out to me on more than one occasion… with a hickory switch.

Regardless, though, the lessons took, and as I grew older, I came to appreciate how good manners don’t cost a single penny to use and how not usin’ ‘em can very well cost a person very dearly further on down the road. Besides, aren’t our good manners and hospitality what Southerners are known for most?

Most remembered for his military leadership of the Confederacy, General Robert E. Lee was also revered, by both Southerners AND Northerners, for his impeccable manners, his self-control, self-denial, patience, humility, and principled approach to life.

Once, while on his way to Richmond, he was seated in the very back of a railroad car, of which every seat was taken. At one of the stations, an elderly woman of humble appearance entered the car, carrying a large basket. She walked the entire length of the aisle and not a man offered her a seat. When she was opposite General Lee’s seat, he promptly rose, saying, “Madam, please take this seat.”

Instantly a score of men were on their feet, and a chorus of voices said, “General, have my seat.”

“No, gentlemen,” he replied, “if there was no seat for this old lady, there is no seat for me.” Reportedly, it wasn’t long before the car was almost empty, it obviously being too warm to be comfortable.

          Now, if the greatest general of all time, a man well-advanced in age and of very high station, could display good manners daily to even the most common of strangers, so can this ol’ boy. Thank you for readin’ today’s post. I do appreciate it. 

‘SLOW DOWN & ENJOY LIFE’

          Remember the evenings spent sittin’ around the table with friends and family playin’ ROOK, UNO, or dominoes? How we’d send the kids outside to play in the yard, while we laughed and cut-up with one another, socializin’ and enjoyin’ each other’s company as we played games for hours?

          Remember sittin’ out on the porch in a rockin’ chair or porch swing or in a lawn chair out in the yard under a shade tree, shellin’ peas or butterbeans, snappin’ green beans, or shuckin’ and silkin’ corn, listenin’ to our parents or grandparents talk? How nothin’ ever tasted so good on those hot ol’ days as a glass of ice-cold sweet tea from out of one of Mamaw’s colored aluminum tumblers?

Remember how as kids we traveled in packs, riding our bicycles all over the ‘neighborhood’, havin’ fun just hangin’ out? How we’d climb into a swing, twist it around and around, then let it go, spinnin’ ‘til we were ‘dizzy drunk’? Remember playin’ badminton out in the yard with your cousins, arguin’ over whose turn it was to serve, or playin’ hide n’ seek ‘til dark, and then fillin’ an old jar with lightnin’ bugs just before bedtime? Ahhh… those were good times.

In this day and age of hurry, hurry, hurry… all of us can benefit by taking the time to slow down and enjoy life. Slowing down leads to a greater appreciation for life and a greater level of happiness; and, most importantly, it strengthens the relationships we have with our families and friends. We should live life, not just experience it, so… Tag! You’re it!

‘BETTER CONFEDERATES DID NOT LIVE’

          The topic of black Confederate soldiers is rarely talked about, nowadays, because it's not ‘politically correct’, but the truth of the matter is that quite a number of black Southerners served in the Confederate Army, and way before Mr. Lincoln ever let the first black man fight for his beloved Union. The contributions that Black Southerners made to support the South in its struggle for independence should not be denigrated.

Why would a black man fight to protect slavery, you ask. It wasn’t for slavery that he fought. Black Southerners fought for the same reason that they defended the United States colonies during the Revolutionary War; they fought because their homes were being invaded. This was their country. They fought to protect their homes, their families, their neighbors, and, quite frankly, the only life they knew.

          It is impossible to know exactly how many black soldiers served the Confederacy during the War for Southern Independence, but it has been estimated that between 50,000 - 90,000 Southern Negroes, both slave and free black, served in the Confederate ranks, with over 13,000 of these men having seen actual combat.

          Although it was late in the War before the Confederate Government finally approved for blacks to be officially enlisted as soldiers, in ‘the ranks’ it was a much different story. Many Confederate officers frequently enlisted blacks with the simple criteria of “Will you fight?” And fight, they did!



‘Uncle’ Jeff Shields, General Thomas

‘Stonewall’ Jackson's Negro bodyguard

          During the first major battle of the War, the 1^st Battle of Manassas (that’s 1^st Battle of Bull Run to any Yankees readin’ this), Black Confederates were in the thickest of the fightin’, shocking the Northern soldiers who went up against them, and later, 3,000+ Black Confederates were serving under General ‘Stonewall’ Jackson, during his famous Valley Campaign of 1862.

And when the folks down around Macon, Georgia, heard that the Yankee Army had burned Atlanta and was now comin' out the other side destroying everything in its path, some of the colored men there asked their white mistresses for permission to form what the white folks called a militia, as they had heard that General Sherman was killin' and burnin' everything in his path - killin women and children, colored and white alike. As most of their men were off fightin’ in the War, the ladies readily gave their consent, and preparations were hurriedly made.

Armed with such weapons as could be rounded up, from old revolutionary muskets left behind to machetes, pitchforks, and even clubs, and flying a Confederate Battle Flag made up of old rags dyed and sewn together, the 300-colored men marched out to meet the Yankee devils.

Under General Pleasant J. Phillips, they and other militia troops met the Union Army, approximately seven miles east of Macon, near the small hamlet of Griswoldville, where there was a Confederate pistol factory and other mills. A day-long battle ensued, and the relatively inexperienced Confederate militia made seven ill-fated charges, through withering fire, upon a fortified position manned by veteran Union soldiers armed with the new Spencer repeating rifle. The battle ended at sundown when the Southerners retired from the battlefield. The Confederates lost more than 1100-men dead, wounded, or captured.



Louis Napoleon Winbush, seen here @ the
1932 Confederate Reunion, rode with Gen. Forrest
during the War Between the States



Of the 300-Black Confederates that marched off that day to meet the Yankee invader, only three of those men made it back. Theirs was the only major opposition to General Sherman's infamous March to the Sea.

          Even General Nathan Bedford Forrest, ex-slave trader and plantation owner, had 65-Black Confederates voluntarily serving in his legendary cavalry troop, bedeviling the Yankees all across Alabama, Mississippi, and Tennessee. After the war, he said of the black men who served under him, "These boys stayed with me… and better Confederates did not live."

          And when General Robert E. Lee finally surrendered at Appomattox, in April of 1865, dozens of Black Confederates were present amongst the ranks of the infamous ‘Army of Northern Virginia’.

          So, don’t think for a minute that the storied battlefield successes of any of the above-mentioned Confederate units would have been possible without the support of these loyal black Southerners.

          Now, some folks want to point out that more black soldiers fought for the North than did for the South, which is true. But, what they don’t tell you is how the North forcibly conscripted blacks, both free blacks and slaves, as they came upon them in occupied territories, giving them no choice whatsoever.

            In February of 1865, Union General Ulysses S. Grant (a slave owner, himself) ordered the capture of “all the Negro men… before the enemy can put them in their ranks.” He feared that black Southerners would take up arms for the Confederacy.

The order spread universal confusion and terror among the Negroes, and they fled to the woods and swamps. They were hunted to their hiding places by the Yankee soldiers, and the men and young boys were seized and forced to enlist. Many of the men had large families of young children dependent upon them for support. Their crops and domestic animals were stolen or destroyed, and their women were held as the legitimate prey of lust. Husbands and wives, children and parents, were separated; some to never see one another again. So much for the Union Army being the emancipators of the enslaved and oppressed black man.

More than 40 black Southern men attended the 1890 Alabama Confederate Veterans Reunion



After the War ended, the Southern people did not forget their black comrades-in-arms, either. For the 50th Anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, in 1913, arrangements were made for a joint reunion of Union and Confederate veterans. The Commission in charge of the event made sure that there were enough accommodations for the black Union veterans, but was completely surprised when unexpected Black Confederates arrived. The white Confederate veterans immediately welcomed their old comrades, gave them one of their own tents, and saw to their every need. Nearly every Confederate Reunion held after the War included those blacks that served with them, still proudly wearing the gray.

The descendants of those Black Confederates now live all across the United States – north, south, east, and west - and have a right to be proud of their ancestor's service to the South. Truly…“better Confederates did not live."



‘THANK YOU TO OUR PO-PO!’

            On Wednesday afternoon, our local law enforcement officers once again chose to put their lives on the line for us, the people of this county, as they began an intensive manhunt for the man suspected of committing a brutal double-murder last week in Dawnville. The deputies, police officers, and state troopers who were already on-shift didn’t get to go home when their regular day should have ended; and the ones that weren’t working had their days-off interrupted and were called in.

Now, make no mistake. It didn’t matter that they might have had something planned to do later on that day, like maybe celebrate an anniversary, a family member’s birthday, or just enjoy time at home with their children and loved ones. The call went out and they immediately responded. That’s just the kind of folks they are.

Upon arrival, they were deployed to different posts and assigned specific tasks. Officers and deputies, not only from our own county but from cities and counties all over North Georgia, responded, and with them they brought their specialties, too, like K-9 units, special response teams, and even the State Patrol’s helicopter.

Wearing long pants, boots, and body armor, tactical vests and gun belts with automatic weapons slung across their chests, they stomped through the brush and the briars in the sweltering heat, waded through mud holes and poison ivy, searched row upon row of waist-high cornfields, and trudged across dusty pastures in the blazing sun; they knocked on doors, cleared outbuildings, and checked under houses in nearby subdivisions. They manned roadblocks on shade-less stretches of hot asphalt searching hundreds of vehicles, and they responded to innumerable prowler calls in and around the search area all night long. And while this was going on in Varnell, a limited number of others were scrambling to cover the regular, every day calls all over the rest of the county.

Add to that the very real possibility that at any moment, any one of those involved could have suddenly come in contact with the man suspected of brutally murdering two people just days ago and be faced with a probable violent outcome that could change their own life in the blink of an eye.

Stop and think about it. You know these folks, these police officers, deputies, troopers, and detectives. They may be your friends, your family, or your neighbors. Their kids play ball with your kids, or you see ‘em at church on a Sunday mornin’. These are the men and women that protect us from the ‘bad guys’, 24/7, 365-days-a-year.

They’re the ones who never give up, which in-turn resulted in their having the suspect in-custody just under 24-hours later and with no loss of life… just a lot of lost sleep and sweat. To all of the members of local and state law enforcement in and around Whitfield County, I myself want to say ‘Thank you’… thank you for choosing each and every day to don a uniform and keep us safe. Your service does matter, guys, and you truly are appreciated.

- Barry D. Jennings

Cohutta, Georgia