The first structure built in Columbus was a log house erected in the late fall of 1817, but it was not until December 1819 that the new settlement was officially recognized as a town. In the Tombigbee River Valley 1818, the year that was in between, was a transitional year.
It was a March afternoon in 2007. I was sitting in my bunk at Durango Jail, reading a year-old copy of TIME Magazine the crack staff of the Maricopa County Jail system had provided for the reading pleasure of the inmates they had stacked like cordwood into Building 4, A Pod.
Some would call it The Mississippi Paradox. One the one hand, we say we want the federal government off our backs, yet on the other we say want more dollars coming to Mississippi from Washington. The presidential election will dramatically have an effect on both these statements.
Hanging between the cedar post and the gardenia bush is the web of a garden spider.
In Sunday's Dispatch, reporter Sarah Fowler tackled a problem that has reached epidemic proportions in Mississippi -- teenage sex.
Last year Carole found out she had a mass. Carole is one of those people who does everything right. She eats right, exercises and gets annual mammograms. So when the doctor said he saw something suspicious, Carole wasn't worried. If it was cancer it had to be small. Right?
He was the last passenger to get on the plane. A tall black man in a dark pinstriped suit, elegant white shirt and expensive shoes. His eyes landed on the empty seat beside me. We were on a 6 a.m. flight from Birmingham to Washington D.C.
Often what we consider to be important really isn't that significant, while at the same time events we overlook can be of historic note.
A visit to the visitor's bureau Tuesday evening to meet a few of the contestants in this week's Crappie Masters National Championship confirmed for me one of life's great truths: Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will blow the rent at BassPro.
It was my strangest encounter with nature yet. I walked toward the greenhouse, rounding the compost pile. On the opposite side of the compost I saw about eight inches of a snake.
I recently heard a person comment that the difference between thieves and politicians is that there is honor among thieves. Having spent more than 35 years in politics, I take exception to that comment but I can also understand why sometimes people might think so. It only takes one rotten apple to make a whole bushel basket of otherwise good apples look bad.
This week, I received two photographs of U.S. Ambassador to Libya Christopher Stevens being dragged through the streets of Benghazi, just before he died. He was bruised and bloody, his clothing filthy and torn. They made me horribly sad.
For some time now, we've been hearing that you can't fix what's wrong with our education system by throwing money at it.
Since my son was born a little more than six years ago, my wife and I have had countless angst-ridden discussions on what to do when he reached school age. Public, private, boarding, home -- we've weighed every schooling option. He started kindergarten last month, and, though we are thrilled with his school, the dialogue continues.
A friend showed me an email she received from her daughter. Her daughter is a full-time college student and has a full-time job at an attorney's firm. The email said that the attorney had called the office workers together and said, "Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better and it is going to happen soon."
Are you tired of all the politicians and their inane rhetoric yet? Well, I hope not, because there is much more to come. Still, it is difficult not to be disgusted.
Thursday afternoon at Emerson School in Starkville, I walked into a room full of statistics. And if the folks in charge had taken role, I imagine it would have gone something like this: Poverty? Here!
Last night just as we sat down to eat Sam pointed and said, "Three deer just stepped out from the trees."
By Friday night I still had not decided what would be the subject of my column today. So for inspiration Karen and I walked down to the Stella Shouting Contest. It was a lot of fun, but not particularly inspirational for a history column.
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