Marshall Ramsey

The associate publisher waved the tickets at me and said, “They’re prime seats. How’d ya like to go?” They were tickets to the circus.  Front row tickets to the circus.  I was a lowly advertising artist and had a new girlfriend –these were tickets to her heart.  She’d be so impressed.  She’d know I had connections. That I was important.

We started the evening with a big, delicious Mexican dinner.   We stuffed ourselves with burritos smothered with beans, meat and sauce. Afterwards, we headed downtown to the circus.  I parked the car, opened her door and held her hand as we hunted our seats. Our front-row seats.

I could tell she was impressed by the twinkle in her eyes. YES!  A huge impression was about to be made.  Send in the clowns!

We found our seats (did I mention our front row seats?).  The lights dimmed. The music started. The spotlight went to the tunnel at the end of the arena.  Giant, majestic gray beasts lumbered out of the darkness. The elephant parade had begun.

They were coming right at us. We had front row seats for the amazing pachyderm parade. Elephant after elephant marched right by us.  I smiled. I could tell my date was REALLY impressed.  Never has there been a more impressive sight. We could reach out and touch the magnificent creatures.

What I didn’t know was that apparently the parade was sponsored by Ex-Lax. Every single elephant had dysentery.  Bad. And every single elephant waited right until they got in front of my date to drop his or her toxic load.

Splat.

The popcorn soon hit the ground.

Splat.

My date started to turn pale.

Splat.

The smell soon overwhelmed the sight and the sound.

Splat.

My date looked at me (tasting her Mexican food for the second time) and weakly said, “Can we go?”  There was no hand-holding on the way back to the car.

So that’s the true story of the amazing pooping pachyderm parade. I’m really not sure why my wife married me, to be honest.  But I do know this much: We haven’t been to a circus since.

I’ve been discouraged watching our Federal Government lately. We’re drowning in joblessness and debt and both sides of the aisle act more like a bunch of teenagers interested in scoring political points for an upcoming popularity contest than statesmen.

I sat in my chair after the radio show yesterday watching the vote on the debt ceiling compromise. And then she appeared on the screen: Rep. Gabrielle Giffords.  Yes, the same Gabrielle Giffords who was savagely struck in the brain by a mad man’s bullet.  She stood, a little wobbly, and cast her vote.

Yes, our economy is in a hole. Yes, we have a debt problem.  Yes, millions of Americans are discouraged. But Rep. Giffords was a very powerful reminder that mighty obstacles can be overcome.  We’re the greatest nation on this Earth. Like the Congresswoman, we can comeback from the brink to triumph once again.

The sun rose over the horizon like an angry bloodshot eye.  Mortar rounds had kept his whole base pinned down (and awake) since sunset  — His eyes were equally as bloodshot.  It was a long night. It had been a long tour. His third.

The soldier stretched, headed to the bathroom, showered and shaved. As his razor scraped across his face, he  thought of all his friends who had died and been injured in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He thought of his father’s injury in Vietnam.  He thought of his grandfather’s time in a POW camp in Germany during World War 2.   Sacrifices.  Sacrifices for a country that he loved.

He looked at his watch and did the math in his head.  The polls were about to close back home.  If he could make a sacrifice out in the middle of nowhere, people back home could vote.  He wiped the rest of the shaving cream off his face, fumbled with the dog tags around his neck and went to get dressed. He looked at the picture of his beautiful wife and kids and smiled.

He was doing his part. Now it was up to the folks back home to do theirs on this election day.

I stood five feet from him. His fingers made a mandolin come alive.  His playing filled the room with sweet sounds.  He’s a quiet man. A family man.  And a talented musician.

Rayman Billman is a member of the band Jason Fratesi and the Dirt Road Jam Band. He’s a quiet but powerful presence on the stage.  He’s also a First Lieutenant in the Mississippi National Guard.  Friday night, I had the honor of sharing a stage with him at Phillips on the Reservoir.  Saturday afternoon, he was saying a sad goodbye to his friends and family at the Jackson-Evers International Airport when he and several of his fellow Guardsmen headed back to Iraq.

While Congress and the President spent the weekend talking about the national debt, I thought about our country’s other national debt. The debt owed to the men and women who put their lives on hold to go fight and protect us.   I thought about Ray.  The sacrifices he and his family are making on my behalf.

Thank you, Ray. I look forward to playing on a stage again with you soon.