Not everyday do you run up on someone who has crawled into a bear's den, roused its hibernating inhabitant, jabbed him with a sharp stick ... and lived to tell about it. Craig Jamison is one such person, and if you were among the 800 or so folks at the wild game dinner at Fairview Baptist Thursday night, you heard his story.
I have discovered the world of MSU college baseball. It took a spur of the moment trip to the ballpark last season, and I was at least partially hooked. I confess I had never even been to Dudy Noble Field until the latter part of the season last year.
I am starting to suffer from social media overload. Admittedly, I am a gizmo geek. But the proliferation of multiple social media platforms is becoming hard for even a geek to handle.
Some people never learn. Three days after the pastor of a small Kentucky church died from a rattlesnake bite during a church service, church members mourned his passing by, you guessed it, going to church and handling rattlesnakes.
It didn't come up this time, perhaps because attention quickly shifted to the suspects. But it's a question that has been asked before and will be asked again. It's not a bad question.
It's strange how in five minutes you may experience an event that, at least on some level, changes your life. It happened not a mile from the house.
On those warm, rainy days and nights in February when the temperature suddenly drops 30 or 40 degrees and a wintry blast comes roaring out of the Delta, I think of the Eliza Battle.
During our semi-regular phone conversations, my brother, Fred, always starts the conversation with the same question: "What is your book going to be about?" I always respond, "Oh, I don't know" and move on to some other topic.
"I hate government" is an oft-repeated refrain. We hear it more and more as Washington becomes ever more dysfunctional. It is sad to hear because I really don't believe it's government people hate, it's the politicians who are the source of the unrequited anger and frustration.
When the U.S. economy was imploding in 2008, federal officials decided which car companies, which investment firms would be given infusions of taxpayer cash and which would be allowed to go belly-up.
Dressed in all our outdoor gear, we watched a bird soar over the sage field and lake. "It's a small hawk or maybe an owl. The head looks like an owl," Sam said.
As Jeff Shepherd was pulling out of the parking lot of Columbus Inn and Suites Friday, he stopped his red Ford F-150, rolled down the window and shook his head. "You better be careful what you ask for," he said. "I told Lou Anne I wanted a red-hot Valentine, and I got this."
I am an avid movie goer. I would say a movie buff, but that would imply that I can hold my own in a movie trivia contest which is far from the truth.
"On Aug. 4, he's an Eagle Scout and has the highest honor," Pascal Tessier's mother, Tracie Felker, told a reporter. "Aug. 5, all of a sudden, he's no longer good enough to be a Boy Scout."
When University of Missouri football player Michael Sam told the New York Times in a Sunday interview that he was gay, players, pundits and ordinary people were quick to respond. Mississippi State player Rufus Warren took to Twitter, saying "this is a MAN sport. And being gay is not a man." Later the same day, Warren took down that tweet and apologized for the comment.
Gov. Phil Bryant and U.S. Rep. Bennie Thompson on stage together talking to each other about faith and race was quite interesting to watch.
Texas has paved the way, meaning Mississippi lawmakers have "cover." If they so choose, they may follow Gov. Phil Bryant's reform suggestions this year that include abundant alternatives to incarceration.
Joe Ray Roberson, longtime Dispatch photographer, was one of those people so well known around town, the use of a surname was superfluous, if not confusing; he was simply "Joe Ray." Roberson died early Sunday morning after a long illness.
Darkness came early; I beckoned Jack, the cat, to come inside but he stopped, uneasy, and stared into the woods. There was a sound unlike any I'd ever heard. Not at all like the snort of a deer warning its young, then the sound of deer running through the woods. This sound was different, and it didn't run. There was thrashing, a scream, but no running.
I have previously written about John Pitchlynn and Fort Smith at Plymouth Bluff during the Creek Indian War of 1813-1814, but there is much more history surrounding the bluff than just that.
1. Patrick Buchanan: If God Is dead ... NATIONAL COLUMNS
2. Editorial cartoon for 4-27-16 NATIONAL COLUMNS
3. Our View: The scene is set for a hike DISPATCH EDITORIALS
4. Froma Harrop: The liberal Silent Majority NATIONAL COLUMNS
5. Editorial cartoon for 4-28-16 NATIONAL COLUMNS