Marshall Ramsey

One of the dangers of being an editorial cartoonist is that for years, you just worry about one thing: Your deadline. Then tomorrow, you worry about one more thing: Your deadline. You have an artificial structure where you are allowed to be as creative as you want — but all within the confines of that cycle. 

I say it is a danger because if it gets taken away (or if you walk away) from it, you suddenly are left in a world with no structure whatsoever. You discover you are badly in need of some kind of air traffic control. Things come at you and then other things suddenly start falling through the cracks. 

I’ve learned that the hard way. I was addicted to the structure of the deadline. It is what pushed me forward when I was procrastinating. It was what motivated me. 

You don’t think five or 10 years down the road. You aren’t playing chess with your career. You are playing checkers. That is why you are shocked when someone comes along, taps you on your shoulder and hands you an envelope. Like a frog in a slow boiling pot, you’d just happy in the hot tub. 

Until…

I was that way until 2010. Since then, I have been thrashing around trying to survive. Looking back at my journals, I’ve done OK. I have a great job and I love who I work with. But I had a great and loved who I work with. I just had to learn a more entrepreneurial mindset. 

Today, I go. And go. And go go so more. But what I have to learn to master is becoming more proactive. To see what the future might brings and seize those opportunities. Work must be fun. And while I must live in the moment, I also know that I have to use that moment to prepare for the future. It is, if the Lord blesses me, coming. 

I pray that I become a more strategic thinker. 

Let me say this: If you go to your job and do the same thing over and over, you have to prepare for the day when you won’t get to do that thing again. And you must remember this simple truth: You are not your job. The job you do is a reflection of who you are. There’s a big difference there. One will cause you to be crushed if you lose your job. They other mean that if you do it right, people will seek you out to hire you.

Have a great day. I need to head back to work.

You will see them here first!

John Mosley paints more than just cars. He also paints airplanes — and this particular one was a really rare warbird. This P-63F King Aircobra was a test aircraft, one of two and the only one left. It’s also one of three Aircobras that fly. While not embraced by the U.S., the Soviets bought over 3,000 Kingcobras and used them effectively against the Germans. Owned by the Commemorative Air Force, this plane is, as you can imagine, extremely rare. This is a drawing I did based off a photo I took. I used Procreate to draw/paint it.

“The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.” Marcus Tullius Cicero
Today would have been dad’s 84th birthday. He died 983 days ago and I think it is safe to say that my sisters and I miss him very, very much. Dad was a great salesman, father, community member and small businessman. He loved his family, The University of Tennessee, to eat, to read, to fall asleep in his chair, to work hard (why he fell asleep in his chair), trading cars, golf, basketball and his cat. When he died, we stood in the receiving line listening to stories from over 40 years about how he had helped people.
He set a powerful example.
I often tell the story of how he taught me to waterski. Dad loved to ski (he skied at 78!) and really wanted me to learn. I fought it for a while (I was a pain as a kid) but one day, I relented and he took me out into the middle of Fort Loudon Lake (on the Tennessee River near Knoxville). Dad drug me up and down the river. Over and over and over and over. I, being eight and apparently not very bright, did not release the rope so I ended up drinking enough water to develop gills. Then a miracle happened — I popped up out of the water! I struggled to stay in between the wake and stay up. But as we went along, I could see dad starting to get bored. (Dad was a big kid and you didn’t want him getting bored). He put the boat into a tight circle and I got slung outside of the wake. For those of you who don’t understand centrifugal force, the boat goes 20, the little boy on the skis goes 795 mph. I was hanging on for dear life when I hit a piece of driftwood.
CRASH!
I looked like the skier from ABC’s Wide World of Sports (agony of defeat) opening. I tumbled, lost me skis and hit the water hard. And the water hit back. So did one of the skis — it whacked me in my head. I was half-dazed when he pulled the boat back around. He carefully pulled it next to me and started poking me with a paddle. I think he was messing with me.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Go away.” I responded. He then said, “Grab the rope.”
“I’m swimming back.”
“You can’t swim that far. Grab the rope.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re making your story about how you got back up, not how you fell down.”
I grabbed the rope, popped back up and skied for the rest of the day.
Twenty-five years later, I was lying in bed after my melanoma surgery. I was floating around in a haze of opioid painkillers, dreaming of purple unicorns and feeling sorry for myself because I had cancer. Then I felt pressure on my forehead. It was almost like tapping.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
I opened my eyes and saw my dad leaning over me.
“Get up,” he said. “We’re walking around the block.”
“But I just had surgery.”
“Get up. I’ll help you. But we’re going to make your story about how you beat cancer, not how you had cancer.”
You see, he knew what I was going through. He had had cancer a couple of years before I had. Dad wasn’t Yoda by any means, but he had a gift of teaching things indirectly. Any resilience I have is from him. And for that, I will be eternally grateful. Now when I get knocked down, I know to grab the rope.
Grabbing the rope after dad died has been tough. But I know that’s what he would want. The man wasn’t big on pity parties.
Let me just say this though: Dad wasn’t Saint Dave and that is not what this post is about. He was flawed and could at times be a butthead. (n that respect, the apple did not fall far from the tree.) And he and I could also butt heads. But after he died, my sisters and I realized just how much he loved and protected us.
Dave Ramsey was about family and community. He loved my mother in a way I can’t understand. He loved his children deeply. In the video my friend Mike Frascogna III gave me, dad talks about me for about 30 minutes. He was so proud — not only of me but of my sisters. When we came up in the video, his eyes twinkled.
Dad had many funny quirks. He’d point on maps with his middle finger. He’d get mad and say, “That’s wrom!” I thought for years that Washington was pronounced Warshington. He loved to laugh — I wish I had his sense of humor. It was that good.
Dad always said after a big meal, “That was the best meal I ever had.” It was funny, actually, because we could predict it every single time. So tonight, I’m going out to eat. I’m going to eat a big meal. And in his honor, I am going to proclaim it to be the best meal I ever had.
He changed when his dad died. When Grandpa passed away, dad really opened up. I understand why now.
Happy birthday Dad. Thanks for all you did for us three kids. We love you. And we always will.

Watching my career change faster than you can say, “newspaper,” I’ve learned a couple of things about change. One, it’s going to happen whether you like it or not. The second, is that like an orange, you discover what is inside of you when you are squeezed. I know. I have been fired (once) and made part-time (once) — neither were fun. I have fumbled, bumbled, succeeded and failed in the past eight years. I can tell you, though, that if you want change to be real, you can’t patch up things on the surface. You have to take a good look at your heart.

I don’t mean go to the cardiologist (although if you are my age, that’s not a bad idea). No, I mean, you need to really ask yourself what’s driving you. What’s your purpose? Are you doing it to serve yourself or others? Is fear driving you? Or love?

You just vomited, right? I know I gagged a little. But when I say love, I don’t mean the sappy crap you see on Valentine’s Days cards. No, I mean you should use your talent in ways that make those around you lives better — you know, showing your love by your actions.

For example: Do something today out of the blue that makes your spouse or partner’s life better. Do something extra that makes your boss’ life better. Do something randomly that makes a friend’s life better. That’s what I mean by changing your heart. Give your time, talent and treasure. That will change your world. And will make the bigger one that much better.

I’m writing this because I’m not trying to be Zig Ziglar. I am writing it because I am in the process of rethinking why I am doing what I am doing. Time is speeding up on me. I am sitting here deciding what’s the best way to use my time on Earth.

Have a great day today. Find some way to make a difference.

Somewhere in a library in a community college, there is a student drinking her third cup of coffee. Her term paper is due in a week but she isn’t waiting until the last minute to finish it up. No, she is taking her time and putting her heart into it — which is something she does with everything she does. She saw a Snap on Snapchat about parents bribing people to get their kids into exclusive colleges and for a minute, she was at a crossroads. She felt a wave of anger rise up in her stomach just thinking about someone getting an advantage over her. Had that person stayed home on Friday nights trying to learn AP Calculus and AP Chemistry? Had that person worked a part-job and saved money for college? Had that person cried when the community college scholarship arrived in the mail and then cried again when the scholarship to the local university did too? No. But the student quickly took a breath and pushed those thoughts away. Jealousy, envy, anger were all a fool’s emotions. She didn’t have enough energy for them and they didn’t fit into her plan. She was going to be a doctor. And while she would not go into Harvard Medical School, she would become one of the finest oncologists in the world. Her formable work-ethic and raw drive overcame any lack of connections her divorced mom might have had.
And one day, in the irony of ironies, she ended up saving the life of one of the kids whose parents bribed her into college. As her healed patient walked out the door, she said, “Thank God I am rich. It’s the only way to know the very best at what they do.”

Rivers of yellow wind their way down the street as the ran washes the pollen from the air. The trees remind us that another Southern Springtime is upon us. The brown and gray landscape erupts in various shades of green. Blossoms that survived last week’s hard freeze are exploding in beauty. Rebirth. Renewal. Rejoice.
There are so many reasons for love living in the South. The food. The people. The history. The stories. The kindness that is exhibited when disaster strikes. It’s the whole chainsaws and casseroles phenomena that I like to talk about. When your house is hit by a tornado, before you can get out of the rubble, there will be a church van full of people with chainsaws and casseroles. They’ll cut the tree off your house and then feed you.
Maybe we’re so good at it because we have so much experience. But it is that moment when we don’t look at our differences, but we realize we are in the same boat. It’s when what we learn on Sunday mornings comes to life.
The South is not perfect. We have major problems to solve. Hate and fear are like rabid locusts trying to destroy crops of good will. But that very irritant is what creates the art that we celebrate. Like an oyster covering a grain of sand and making a pearl, our stories and music have been a balm for pain and changed a nation. For example, without the thorns of hatred, we would not have the rose called the Blues.
This is a place where we love our mamas, cherish our friends, tell our stories, cheer our favorite sports teams, worship on a Sunday and gather around a table to celebrate our blessings with food. We drop our g’s and sometimes chase shiny objects. We sweat profusely in the Summer and dodge tornadoes in the Spring. But there are good people here. Their caring and goodwill help choke out hatred’s weeds.
As I listen to the rain come down and watch the pollen wash away, I think of this truth: If you had a compass that pointed to home, it wouldn’t point North. It would point South.

In the spirit of Lent, I sat down and thought about all of my problems. And then I came to the realization that every single one of them is my fault. Yup. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. This is a more brutal form of the serenity prayer. I am sitting here right now because of all of the choices I’ve made. Yes, there have been situations beyond my control. But if they are a problem, I needed to react to them better.
I own them.
No, I am not being hard on myself. My life is really really good and I am also working hard on realizing that, too. But what I have been doing is basically fumigating any victim mentality out of my brain. I am not a victim in anyway. Yes, there have been some things that I wished were different. But they shaped me into who I am. That’s what I have to work with. My job, from here on out, is to own the present and own who I am. If I want to get better, I need to decide what “better” is and start working towards it. Otherwise, I am just wishing — or worse, complaining.
If feels good to complain. Sometimes, I guess it is therapeutic. But it is also a colossal waste of energy. And I only have so much of that.
It’s my fault. It’s also my choice how to deal with it. If you believe in free will, which I do, use it to heal yourself, one day at a time. Own the situation you are in and change it.