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.
In a previous life, I was a sports journalist, an occupation that took me to many of the biggest sporting events in the United States. As a reporter and later, an editor, I attended the Masters Golf Tournament, the Kentucky Derby, the Super Bowl, three college football championship games, the NCAA Final Four, the World Series and innumerable professional and college sporting events that people typically pay good money to see.
I know they thought I was some crazy person. I drove slowly by a couple of times and waved so they wouldn't think I was hostile and then turned in and sat observing them for a few minutes.
Even I was willing to blame the president, or at least his namesake: Obamacare. What other explanation was there for the fact that it was taking weeks to get a prescription filled, and I was suffering an acute flare-up of my rheumatoid arthritis?
It occurs to me that when a pit bull menaced Jackson TV newsman Bert Case back in 2010, it was because one watchdog recognized another -- and didn't want competition in the neighborhood.
Crawford Mayor Fred Tolon is optimistic about his little town and wants to see it flourish. On Jan. 25 he hosted a breakfast with ministers and other key people in the community to discuss his vision. I was happy to be among those invited.
Snow dusted across the Prairie, temperatures plummeted. Sam built a wood fire. We have other heat sources, but firewood is cheap and available and propane has become high and unavailable.
There is a 1908 postcard view of the Steamer American at the Columbus landing which has become the iconic image of a Tombigbee steamboat at Columbus. I have twice used the image in articles and it appears in my book "The Tombigbee River Steamboats: Rollodores, Dead Heads, and Side-Wheelers."
I must confess: I know nothing of football. Mama and I would often wait until Daddy, my three older brothers and Uncle Wayne got consumed with the surround sound of our family TV and then disappear into the sanctity of her light blue ceramic bathroom.
Thursday afternoon while eating Indian food, I thought about Leo Spatz. A bit of history: A native of Germany, Leo came to Columbus in 1935 to manage the restaurant and coffee shop of the Gilmer Hotel, a four-story, Civil-War era brick building where the Gilmer Inn is now. Leo's father ran the kitchen and his wife Florence was hostess. For my mother's generation, the Gilmer was the fashionable place to go.
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