Marshall Ramsey

Fires burned in the fields across the highway. The fall harvest was over and life in their farming community was restarting once again. Smoke wafted across the road and blanketed two small houses that sat side by side. Two men walked out to their mailboxes together as a small Air Tractor crop duster buzzed overhead.

“Mornin’ Bill.”

Bill Franklin was 58-years old who worked for the county and was a veteran of the first Gulf War. There he had won a Silver Star for gallantry in battle. On the first night of the war, he saved his squad from a Republican Guard ambush. He was quiet and walked like the former soldier he was. An African-American, his family once worked the fields surrounding his home. He and his wife had divorced after his PTSD had caused him to start drinking. Now sober for 20 years, he was grateful for the blessings God had given him.

“Morning, Jim.”

Jim Johnson was 55 years old, farmed and was a county supervisor. His family had owned land in the county for years. He dabbled in state politics and was widowed. Like his good friend Bill, Jim had definite opinions about the directions the world was going.

When online.

Both men put their bills in the box and went inside. There they got on Twitter and posted under fake names. And unbeknownst to the other, they did battle with each other. One was a godless liberal and the other was a MAGA tyrant. Hatred flowed from their fingertips as they sparred like the country depended on it.

And then they’d walk back outside and talk sports and family.

“How’re your grandchildren, Bill?”

Bill Franklin’s kids had all graduated from college and now were working in Atlanta and Huntsville as a lawyer and rocket engineer.

“They’re doing great, Jim. Thank you for asking. How is Shannon?”

“Shannon is doing really well. I’m so proud of her and her family. Her new accounting job is really paying her well. Want to have dinner tonight? I’m cooking steaks. You bring the beer?”

“Sure. But why don’t I bring iced tea. And tell Shannon I’m super proud of her the next time you FaceTime her.” Jim smiled. Bill knew Jim’s sobriety was core to who he was.

Shannon was Jim’s only daughter. She had survived the car crash that had killed her mother. They were at a crossroad off Highway 1 when a drunk driver ran a stop sign. He had raised Shannon by himself — but she also considered Bill Franklin her uncle. Jim struggled with grief, though. That had driven him online — and nearly insane.

Both men walked back inside, sat down at their computers and started insulting the other’s online persona. The fires of hatred ignited once again. Their keyboards burned red hot as the fields across the street.

It was a modern tale of friendship — one part reality and one part driven by an algorithm.

I love the Crossroads story. Robert Johnson meets the Devil. Trades his soul for mad guitar skills. The rest is legend and we have modern music. I even had the honor of watching Steven Johnson, Robert Johnson’s grandson perform an exorcism on stage for his grandfather.

He’s not a bad performer in his own right.

But when I drove through the Crossroads the other night (the intersection of Highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale) I thought about how my own life and career have been at a crossroads.

Editorial cartooning, the skill that brought me to the dance, is fading away as a profession. I have been in a process of reinvention for several years ago. And while standing at my own crossroads, I have also met the Devil.

And his name is Fear.

Fear, though, didn’t offer some amazing art talent for my soul. No, Fear tried to steal my talent from me by making me do nothing. Am I good enough? Will I be able to feed my family? Will I fail?

The answers: Yes, Yes, and YES!

And that’s OK. Because Fear lies to you. It places that seed of doubt in you that keeps you from even making the effort in the first place. What Fear hates the most from you is you doing the work.

I drove through the intersection (I had a green light) and headed down Hwy. 49E back home. My headlights pierced the darkness and my dreams illuminated the path before me. The very skills that make me a good editorial cartoonist make me a great storyteller. That’s my path. Two friends texted me yesterday and helped me see that path even clearer.

They seemed more heaven-sent than anything else.

• My cartoons aren’t going anywhere. The profession of being an editorial cartoonist for a newspaper is what left. I am grateful I can still draw for Mississippi Today.

Pip is bumping into things these days. Cataracts are starting to dim her world — her age and diseases are now taking a toll. Her decline has been fairly rapid; she is 11 but presents more like she is 14 or older. Diabetes and Cushings are brutal on a small dog. But she is a small dog who has a big heart. Her tail still wags when I come home. She viciously barks to defend her territory. And her ability to love is still as powerful as it was when she was a puppy.

Actually, I think her heart is stronger now.

Last night I felt sad seeing her lying in her little bed. She has been so tired lately; my heart breaks seeing her like this. Time, like those tiny grains of sand in an hourglass, is slipping away.

But instead of being sad, I decided just to embrace the moment. I got down on the floor, started rubbing her face, and scratching under her chin.

It brought both of us a moment of joy.

There is a lesson about impermanence somewhere in there. In an almost Zen-like way, it was a powerful reminder to not mourn what will be but to instead to live in the moment that is.

I hope Pip lives for a longtime yet to come. Like I’ve always heard, the only problem with dogs is that they don’t live long enough; I selfishly want more time with her. However, no matter how much time she has on her clock, my heart will be with her. And she will keep living until the very end.

Never underestimate the power of a little brown dog.

Why Mississippi?

I remember my friend asking me that question when I told him I had accepted the cartooning job at The Clarion-Ledger. At the time, I lived in San Diego — you won’t find a finer place to live weather-wise. I think my friend was incredulous that I was leaving such a paradise. Truthfully, Amy and I loved our adopted hometown. Picnics on Shelter Island, walks along Mission Bay, hikes to Point Loma, sitting on the beach in La Jolla Shores. I sat for a moment, trying to come up with a reason to explain to my friend why we were moving back to our native South.

“I’ve always wanted a cartooning job and we’ll be within a car ride to Atlanta. We will have kids someday. We want to be closer to our families.”

It was a solid answer and a true one. But nearly 27 years later, I can tell my friend another reason.

“It’s the people. Last week, I got to sit on a front porch with David Rae Morris as I listened to him talk about legacy, having a famous father (Willie Morris), blazing his own path, and making sure his daughter blazes her own. I watched Wyatt Waters create a beautiful watercolor painting in the time it would take me to draw a cartoon. And then I got to hang out with him and his wonderful wife, Kristi. I had a conversation with David Sheffield, a writer I really admire (a playwright and former SNL writer, if you liked an Eddie Murphy skit, you can thank David.) I listened to Joe Crespino talk about his father, an NFL legend, and then Atticus Finch, who many of us wanted to be our father. Richard Ragan entertained us with stories about his journey from the Mississippi Delta to North Korea to Yemen. I listened to Curtis Wilkie tell stories about Willie Morris And Maude Schuyler Clay reminded me of the power of images to tell a story.

That’s just last week.

Mississippi is far from a perfect place. We have so many problems that need to be solved and at times, our leadership seems to lack the will do so. We are 50th in so many good lists and #1 in too many bad ones. But let me just say this: If you don’t have a reason to love something, you won’t make the effort to try to make it better.

So let me go back to the “Why Mississippi?”

Mississippi has allowed me to cross paths with so many talented people.

Yes, that’s it. I’ve been able to meet, interview, befriend, and get to know so many talented people.

And I’m better for it.