For about an hour-and-a-half on Wednesday, it was both the best restaurant and the best classroom in town.
Every so often, we are reminded our world -- the one before us, the one we can reach out and touch -- is not nearly so desperate a place as we might be led to believe.
The Republican Party's "Freedom Caucus," which has several less-charitable nicknames on Capitol Hill, is the dog that caught the car.
When work crews began demo work on part of the old train Depot on Main Street this week, the buzz began.
Yogi Berra is no longer around, but one of his witticisms -- "It's deja vu all over again" -- has never been more apt. This time, though, it's not at all funny.
Wonderful. That's just what the conservative movement needs right now. Less adult supervision.
Football, an observer once noted, is not a contact sport; it is a collision sport.
Behind my house on the Rebel Drive cul-de-sac is an old graveyard of several acres. Its ownership is unclear.
Pope Francis's four-day visit to the United States was by any measure a personal and political triumph.
The swarming ruby-throated hummingbirds are declining at the feeders.
A couple of months ago Berkley Hudson, an old friend, was in town and called. He wanted to get together and walk through Columbus' Friendship Cemetery exchanging stories of the people buried there.
After several unsuccessful tries to reach him by phone, I caught up with Dick Mahoney in his wife's beauty shop Friday morning. Dick is a baseball fan par excellence ... of the Red Sox variety. I figured he, if anyone in these parts, would have had contact with the recently departed and much beloved New York Yankees catcher, coach and sage, Lawrence Peter Berra.
One September night when I was 4, my father came home early from the butcher shop where he worked in the Florida Panhandle town of Pensacola. We were, he announced, going to the fair.
"Oh, so you drank the Kool-Aid," my neighbor superciliously sneered from the stoop he occupies each afternoon to sip wine and critique people's parking skills on our beloved Olive Street.
In 1958, Democrat George Wallace, running as a candidate for governor of Alabama and racially moderate enough to be endorsed by the NAACP, was swamped by a strident white supremacist whose campaign played shamelessly to the basest hatreds of the electorate. Afterward, Wallace complained bitterly to a room full of fellow politicians that the other guy had "out-n----red me."
1. Froma Harrop: Go ahead, Republicans. Investigate Hillary. Again. NATIONAL COLUMNS
2. Connie Schultz: Our country turns to you, Alabama NATIONAL COLUMNS
3. Slimantics: Who do you believe? LOCAL COLUMNS
4. Editorial cartoon for 11-16-17 NATIONAL COLUMNS